Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 54

The Baron’s carriage rolled leisurely along the road under the moonlight, making an unpleasant crunching sound as the wheels ran over small stones and broken twigs.

The coachman was familiar with the nighttime woods and almost didn’t need the lantern hanging in front to find his way.

The Baron was still resting inside the carriage.

His health had been poor throughout the winter, and he had come to this ball only after reluctantly mustering the energy following a visit to the doctor.

He often said to the coachman, “That greedy woman has taken so much money from me. If I don’t go, wouldn’t that money be wasted?”

However, the coachman didn’t quite understand what the Baron was talking about, as he only ever dropped him off at the front door, watching the elegantly dressed nobleman enter the hall. He had heard that when the moon rose, a lively ball would take place in the castle’s central greenhouse, where beautiful flowers bloomed irrespective of the season—lilies, dahlias, red roses, hyacinths. A well-educated lady would play music on the piano all night long, and the guests would dance and enjoy the finest smoked ham and champagne.

Of course, that was what the Baron had told him.

But when he and the other coachmen waited in the side rooms, they never heard those wonderful sounds, smelled any hint of flowers, nor saw any lights.

If he looked towards the hall, he could only see the castle’s dark and grim silhouette. The curtains themselves were dark and gloomy, hardly matching the vibrancy of a grand ball.

He guessed maybe the greenhouse had thick curtains that blocked out all sounds because the Baron indeed looked exhausted yet delighted the next day, as if he had partied all night.

The banker’s coachman had confidently told him that Mistress Daisy was a witch, speculating that there was no ball in the castle at all. He believed that the terrible woman laced the tea and wine with a sedative, making the nobles who traveled there think they had attended a fantastic revelry, but in reality, while they were unconscious, the witch was busy picking their pockets, stealing valuable gold pocket watches and gemstone rings.

But anyone with a bit of sense knew that was impossible.

The castle was nominally a girls’ school, registered at the city hall, and every city hall had a mirror of truth installed by mages at its gates. Any person or item related to black magic would reveal its true form before the mirror, and that lady had even accepted the Baron’s donations at the city hall.

Regardless, it wasn’t his place to concern himself with such matters.

He was a man of few words and never partook in these gossip gatherings. Perhaps that was why the Baron favored him, always hiring him to drive the carriage—regardless of how many times that lady appeared in the newspapers, those in the know understood that she wasn’t very reputable. The respectable gentlemen in the city always secretly attended her gatherings and wouldn’t use their own coachmen.

For him, it was a stroke of luck, as the Baron was particularly generous. Having not gone out all winter, the coachman had lost most of his income and was struggling, eagerly anticipating this job.

Pleased within, the coachman made his way through the forest, knowing just around the next bend, he would see the gloomy, quiet castle—just then, one wheel suddenly tilted violently, startling the horse, and he quickly pulled on the reins to look back.

“What’s the matter?” the Baron asked from inside the carriage, which, being a rental, had no front window and only decorative side windows, so he had no idea what was happening outside.

“Nothing, sir. Just hit a stone. I’ll check now,” the coachman muttered.

It was already dark, and staying in the night woods wasn’t pleasant, but he also feared damaging the carriage—it wasn’t his property, and his stingy boss would make him pay for any damages.

He straightened his cap, took the lantern, and jumped down to inspect the rear wheel.

The wheel seemed fine, and there was no obstruction on the ground. Why had it jolted so violently?

It felt as though someone had stabbed the moving wheel with a stick… The coachman thought suspiciously. He was just about to stand up straight when he felt an intense chill on the back of his neck, followed by a heavy thud on the back of his head. He swayed forward but couldn’t keep his balance and fell without a sound.

“What’s going on?” Perhaps, due to the delay, the impatient Baron asked again from inside the carriage.

He hoped the carriage hadn’t broken down. Although the castle wasn’t far, a gentleman of his stature absolutely couldn’t walk there. The wild grass and thorns would tear his silk trousers.

Nor was he willing to have the coachman run to the castle to call for another carriage. It would be fine during the day, but it was dark now, and he couldn’t possibly wait alone in the woods.

The Baron, who had left in high spirits, was now regretting not bringing an additional manservant… But that arrogant woman insisted on limiting the number of people entering the castle, and even he was not exempt.

It was ridiculous. She was just a maid who had once served some dignitary and now dared to call herself a Mistress in front of him!

If it weren’t for the cleverly hidden and intricate arrangements she had made in the castle, and indeed, if she hadn’t been able to gather so many varied and beautiful young girls, he wouldn’t have deigned to travel to such a remote location… As he was lost in thought, he heard two light knocks on the carriage wall.

“There’s a bit of trouble, sir.” Perhaps the cold had affected him. The coachman’s voice sounded off. He didn’t want to respond, but without anyone else immediately available, he reluctantly opened the carriage door in frustration. “What—huh?”

His voice trembled in fright. The moment he opened the door, a gleaming, medium-sized dagger was pressed against his throat.

A young person, cloaked and wrapped in a headscarf that obscured their face, held the dagger with one hand and braced the carriage door with the other.

“Good evening, Baron,” the figure said calmly, pushing him back before swiftly climbing into the carriage and closing the door behind them. Their movements were smooth, as if they did this every day.

The Baron had faced kidnappings before, but never like this, unarmed and without guards. His age made him fearful of death, and terror caused his teeth to chatter. It took him a while to manage a whisper from his throat. “I…I am…Baron Pensence…”

Erica chuckled silently within her scarf.

Despite both being nobles, this one was nothing like the Duke of Brandenburg. He would never foolishly think that merely his title could scare off those with ill intentions under such circumstances.

This frail man cowered in a corner of the carriage, trembling, making Erica, used to seeing Shivers’ robust knights, who could carry a keg with one hand, think she could knock out three of him with one punch.

She pressed Baron Pensence against the carriage wall with one hand. This pampered man offered no resistance, allowing her booted foot to step on his seat cushion. The tip of the dagger still remained against his throat.

“Don’t be nervous,” Erica said softly. “Just answer honestly, and I promise not to harm a single finger.”

As she finished speaking, the carriage shook slightly and started moving again, slowly heading towards the castle.

It was always the same woman every time that greeted him in the foyer.

Tall and thin, dressed in a high-collared plaid long dress, she never cracked a smile, and her expression was colder than a snow-covered rooftop, resembling a strict governess ready to whip anyone who stepped out of line.

As soon as the Baron’s carriage stopped, she frowned deeply because today’s coachman was a man she had never seen before.

The coachman jumped down from the carriage, removed his somewhat worn soft cap, and looked at her uneasily.

“Who are you?” she asked sharply.

“Athos Grum, ma’am,” the coachman said. “My uncle has severe back pain, so he asked me to work for him today, ma’am. The Baron is in the carriage.”

The woman sized him up, noting his hair was the same dull reddish-brown as last year’s coachman, and his beard from his lips to his jaw was equally thick, so she nodded. “Go left. There’s a row of stables and hay. You can rest in the wooden hut behind, and someone will notify you when the Baron leaves tomorrow.”

After speaking, she stopped looking at him and walked to the carriage door, only to hear the new guy shivering. “Ma’am, I don’t know the place.”

“You—” she turned abruptly to scold him, but the carriage door opened, revealing the Baron’s somewhat pale face.

“Please show him the way, miss,” the Baron said tiredly. “I know where to go. I can go in by myself. I have someone with me.”

“My Lord, Mistress Daisy wishes to control the number of guests,” the woman said with a furrowed brow.

“I’ve mentioned to the Mistress that I’ve been having some lung issues this year, always short of breath—she knows,” the Baron insisted sternly. “Please show my coachman the way.”

Daphne wore a magenta lace long dress, with a neckline open to her shoulders, revealing her swan-like, beautifully white neck and shoulders. The loose sleeves tightened at the elbows, and a rose of the same vibrant color as her dress was tied around her wrist. Her hands were trembling slightly from nervousness, so she hid them under the fluffy skirt.

Alice was sitting not far to her left on a high-backed chair, having tea with a guest, whispering softly—the man sitting next to her with a meticulously kept mustache couldn’t imagine that the girl in front of him was brewing a crazy plan.

No, the girls in front of him were brewing a crazy plan.

For the past two days, most of the girls had secretly carried cold soup in their pockets, dumping it after leaving the dining hall.

That detestable soup indeed sapped their will, turning them into a flock of docile lambs ready for slaughter.

Alice looked at the fine porcelain teacup in her hand, feeling somewhat breathless—for the sake of appearing as slim as possible, the girls not only received insufficient food on a daily basis, but they also had to endure tightly laced corsets that left them nearly gasping for air. They had to take deep breaths every few seconds and couldn’t move too vigorously, or they would easily faint from lack of oxygen.

That was exactly the effect Mistress Daisy and the ball’s guests wanted.

The malnutrition made them look as fragile and beautiful as the flowers in the garden—tulips, lilies, and irises that swayed in the wind and couldn’t withstand the storm!

‘These perverts,’ Alice thought disgustedly.

She took a deep breath, feeling her head swell again—her corset was just too tight.

Just then, Daphne approached, lifting her skirt slightly as she sat beside her, taking the nearly slipping teapot from her. Their eyes didn’t meet.

Alice sighed with relief, stood up, and curtseyed. She said she needed some fresh air and politely declined the guest’s offer to accompany her.

Daphne was dressed beautifully today, so the guest didn’t insist, which made her exit unobstructed. She moved as naturally as possible past several velvet sofas, walking along the wall with floor-length curtains—she had deliberately worn a dark green long dress similar in color to the curtains, almost unnoticed by anyone.

During the open period of the ball, it was the least restrictive time for the girls’ movements, as no guest liked to see dolls who were frightened and stiff, moving only on command. Even the usual overseers who ensured they “behaved” weren’t in their usual places, obviously because the prominent guests disliked all prying eyes.

As she breathed deeply, she quickly left the greenhouse, carefully avoiding two servants replenishing drinks, and slipped into the holly bushes that were half a person tall.

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