Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 22

The handsome Duke of Brandenburg was unaware of the increasingly wild rumors about him, but one thing he could be sure of was that his plan to “remain inconspicuous due to being understaffed” had utterly failed.

This could not be entirely attributed to the Duke’s misjudgment of the situation, but rather to the differences between the two continents being even greater than he had anticipated.

Centralized power in Pennigra was well-established, with occasional friction between kingdoms but no large-scale warfare.

Under complex circumstances, the various kingdoms of Doran, even in peaceful times, had stricter checks on population movement than expected.

Dwight had been very discreet throughout his journey, not caring much for pomp except for essentials, and he would cover himself completely with a cloak when leaving the carriage. No one expected that every gate in Syriacochi would have soldiers who thoroughly interrogated and registered visitors, and no masked entries were allowed to prevent spies from infiltrating. Once he had to reveal his face unwillingly, a young soldier was visibly stunned by his appearance, attracting the attention of his colleagues. Although he quickly pulled his hood back on and the shopkeeper and Shivers swiftly signed all documents, they could still see many curious onlookers squeezed towards the gate as their carriage passed through.

Dwight himself was surprised by the commotion his face could cause. As a noble heir born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he rarely appeared before the common folk. Even when surveying his domain, most wouldn’t dare look directly at him. As for the praises he had grown tired of hearing among the nobility since childhood, the Duke always thought they were somewhat exaggerated due to the flamboyant flattery typical of nobility. In other words, he knew he was good-looking, but he didn’t realize to what extent.

Seeing the situation turn chaotic upon entering the city, Shivers made a decisive call, leaving both carriages and most of their luggage with the shopkeeper. He and the fully armed Duke then left the group and blended into the bustling streets.

Around a dim gas lamp, insects continuously swirled, and several spiders hurried across the smoke-darkened wooden beams above. Below, a few burly men sat around a square table playing cards, their bodies emitting a strong smell of sweat, mixed with the perfume of two women leaning over to watch, and the scent of cheap malt beer, fried fish, and cheese in the air, enough to deter any remotely decent lady from stepping foot in this tavern.

But the other patrons seemed not to care, sitting in pairs or groups in corners, either whispering together or joining a gambling table. It wasn’t even eight in the evening yet; although it was already dark, many had just extinguished the forges or closed their barn doors and hurried out to find a place to pass the time.

A man in a drab cloak was also drawn to the rowdy gambling at the center of the tavern. His command of the common tongue was poor, but his card-playing skills were solid. He turned five copper coins into a significant win. The biggest blacksmith, Knytt, however, lost miserably tonight.

“Where are you from, stranger?” Knytt glared at the other’s shuffling hands, ready to catch even the slightest hint of cheating, swearing to himself that he’d twist this guy’s neck like wringing a chicken.

The stranger shrugged and named a place in his broken common language, which Knytt had never heard of.

“Ah, is it ‘Fornbey’?” A woman guessed based on his pronunciation. “I had an aunt married off there. It’s very, very far.”

The stranger nodded and smiled at her.

To be honest, this man looked young with a pair of brown eyes and a decent physique. Unlike the others, his beard wasn’t unkempt, and he didn’t have the sweat smell typical of Knytt and the others. He was rather lucky, having won quite a bit.

If he weren’t a foreigner, Tina would have been more eager to do business with him.

Unfortunately… Knytt and his group weren’t the type to be broad-minded.

He appeared to be a skilled card player and won another two rounds. More and more people gathered around the table, and a plump woman plopped down next to the foreigner, clinging to his arm. She was no longer young—at least five or six years older than Tina—and though heavily made-up, the fatigue at the corners of her eyes couldn’t be hidden by the dim light of the tavern.

“Tina, your rival’s here,” a man teased. “Martina, better go to bed early. Tina’s here tonight, and I see her nails are quite sharp!”

Tina flicked an eyelid but said nothing.

Martina might had been popular once, but a woman’s prime was both short and cruel. Now that Tina was there, who would spare Martina a second glance?

A few men who knew them chuckled.

This woman must be getting desperate, trying to seduce an unknown foreigner without even caring about his background. Ridiculous. When would she understand that this was no longer her place to stay?

Tina’s lips, brightly painted, twisted, and she gave Martina a scornful look, which was returned with equal defiance—Tina maliciously thought she should wait outside to see if she could catch a drunk by midnight.

Unexpectedly, the foreigner didn’t push Martina away but didn’t take the opportunity to embrace her either. His attention seemed entirely focused on the cards in his hands—he won again.

“It seems I have the Goddess of Victory by my side,” he said slowly.

Tina laughed heartily. “How are you so lucky? Are you cheating?”

The atmosphere froze for a moment but quickly returned to normal. The foreigner blinked, puzzled, as if he hadn’t understood Tina’s rapid speech.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” a particularly tall man said harshly, though his eyes stayed fixed on the foreigner.

Martina gave Tina a challenging look, feeling a bit anxious, but the foreigner beside her remained composed. He understood the phrase “Goddess of Victory”, indicating he didn’t mind her sitting there.

Unfortunately, the foreigner’s luck turned mixed in the next hour. Just when Knytt thought he would take all the money from the foreigner in one go, the foreigner stopped playing.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He took out all the money from his pockets, offering to buy all the men present a malt beer and the ladies a glass of wine, specifically requesting an extra helping of broth and bread for his ‘Goddess of Victory’ Martina.

Since he turned his pockets inside out quite honestly, everyone saw that the man really had no more money left—his clothes didn’t have any valuable accessories either, so they let him leave the gambling table graciously.

Martina seemed to like him and quietly asked if he wanted to go for a walk, but the man gestured towards the gambling table, indicating he wanted to continue watching.

Knytt seemed to have his luck returned by the foreigner and started winning money. The pub grew even more crowded, attracting stray dogs and what looked like a street child who, thanks to his small size, went unnoticed as he scurried under tables, hoping to pick up scraps of bread that had fallen to the floor.

But good luck often didn’t last long; soon enough, a lady screamed, loudly complaining about her skirt being dirtied. The muscular tavern owner came out from behind the bar with a thunderous expression, unceremoniously shoving both the people and dogs out, kicking them a few times for good measure. A skinny child seemed to have been kicked in the stomach, squatting outside the door coughing loudly, but no one in the tavern gave him a second glance, except for the penniless foreigner. He glanced at the child, seemingly with a bit of pity, and, with difficulty, stood up from his crowded seat to walk out.

Since his pockets were already empty, Knytt just glanced up at him and then returned his attention to the gambling table. Martina, however, pulled at his sleeve and whispered something about how those little brats were all faking it and not worth pitying. No one knew if the foreigner understood, but he left anyway.

Tina scoffed.

“Why don’t you lift your skirt and chase after him? After all, the bread he bought you could last a whole night, right?”

Martina’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped, “Mind your own business, Tina.”

“Oh, sorry, did I underestimate? Should it be three nights? After all, you’ve been depreciating badly since three years ago.”

The surrounding crowd burst into laughter, and Martina’s face turned red with fury, her ample chest heaving with each breath.

But she didn’t stand up to leave.

Normally, Tina wouldn’t bother targeting Martina, but tonight was different.

Tina couldn’t quite say what it was, but facing a clearly struggling Martina, the man didn’t show the same brazen mockery as Knytt and others. He even slightly defended her, a kind of respect for women that almost resembled the manners of higher society—but in some hidden corner, Tina was also annoyed that he hadn’t given her more attention and was so kind to Martina instead.

Women were such complex and contradictory creatures, but overall, Tina didn’t want this strange foreigner to die, so she gave him a hint when he kept winning. If he had continued to draw attention, then after he left the tavern alone, Knytt and the others would have silently dragged him into an alley, and only in the morning would the early water carrier discover another unrecognizable body in a corner of Syriacochi.

What a foolish man.

Tina thought, probably very young and too tender-hearted. But it was good he left early; getting tricked by those street urchins and scoundrels at least meant his life wasn’t in danger—everyone knew that every seemingly homeless child in Syriacochi might belong to a dirty gang of con artists, using their youthful appearance to commit crimes. But foreigners didn’t know that.

So these fools deserved to be duped.

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