Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 42

Mrs. Milou always got up early. As a diligent housewife, she had too much to do—light the fire, sweep the floor, feed the chickens, wake up the entire family, cook a big pot of steaming oatmeal, and after breakfast, send her husband and children to work in the fields. Then she would head to the well to draw water and bring it back home—only then would her day truly begin.

But today, her routine faced a minor disruption.

“Sir, I’m not sure…” she said nervously. She glanced at the fuzzy rabbit head of the other and quickly lowered her gaze.

Good heavens, how could a rabbit’s head be on a human body? Could this be the demons the priest spoke of? But everyone says devils don’t exist, and the stranger seems very polite…

“We didn’t mean to disturb. We just accidentally fell into the river while traveling overnight, and most of our luggage was washed away, but the kind God Oelde still looked after us, leaving us with a little bit of pocket money. I hope this is enough to buy a jug of milk and a loaf of bread from such a kind-hearted lady as yourself.”

Hearing the revered name of Oelde, the God of War, Mrs. Milou immediately calmed down, as it was the god her family worshiped.

Anyone who could invoke and pray to such a god couldn’t be evil, so perhaps this rabbit-headed man was under some kind of curse… She didn’t immediately open the garden gate, but politely asked the two gentlemen to wait a moment and then turned to wake her husband.

The Duke, standing silently behind the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, slowly asked, “How do you know their family worships the God of War?”

He admitted it was a clever trick. In the countryside, where basic education was rare, devotion to gods was almost blind, and indeed, this was the fastest way to gain trust.

“There was a wooden axe symbolizing the God of War in the mill last night. Sharing the same faith usually attracts the surrounding ants like a piece of candy, and neither locusts nor earthworms would come near. The village isn’t far from the manor, so it’s likely the same faith. I just took a small bet.”

And the bet paid off. The smug, rabbit-headed shopkeeper winked at the Duke, who disliked interacting with strangers.

Dwight almost lost his gentlemanly composure with a roll of his eyes.

“Dave! Dave!” Mrs. Milou said. “There are two outsiders at our yard wanting to come in for a rest.”

Dave, a red-haired man with a thick beard, got out of bed upon hearing this and put on his short coat. “Who are they? Do they carry weapons?”

“No weapons, and no horses. They said they fell into the river last night, and their luggage was washed away.” Mrs. Milou followed behind her husband. “They are dressed neatly and very polite gentlemen.”

The children were still asleep. Mrs. Milou quietly mentioned to her husband about the man with the rabbit head.

“Those who worship the God of War are forthright people. That poor man must be under some curse. Don’t make a big deal out of it and lose decorum,” Dave advised his wife.

Dave, who had once been a carpentry apprentice in the city, was more worldly than Mrs. Milou. Reassured by his words, she gathered her skirt and welcomed the two men inside. Only then did the couple get a clear look at their visitors—

Despite her husband’s reminder, Mrs. Milou couldn’t help but gasp. Not because of the rabbit head, but because the gentleman who followed him inside was so exquisitely handsome, she had never seen anyone so good-looking—almost unreal! The visitor’s features, demeanor, and presence seemed to strike a tangible impact, not just on Mrs. Milou, but Dave was also stunned.

Dwight glanced coldly at the dazed couple.

“This is my Lord, Xavier, from Syriacochi,” Charlie hurried to introduce before Dwight reacted.

His Lordship—a nobleman! No, of course, he must be a noble, for how else could one possess such looks and bearings? Dave, the head of the household, was the first to recover, immediately nudging his wife, no longer daring to look directly at the visitors, bowing as he invited them to sit, and hastily wiping the most formal chairs in the house.

Honestly, Dave, nearly a carpenter, was considered quite capable and well-off in the village, and the furniture was the most respectable in the area, but now, in the presence of such distinguished guests, everything seemed so modest. The couple suddenly felt anxious, and the unusual rabbit head of the other gentleman was momentarily forgotten.

Fortunately, the gentleman was very gracious, not minding their rudeness. Dave served the best apple cider and bread they had, and Mrs. Milou quietly woke the children and unusually allowed them to have some coarse bread to send them out.

“We set off from Syriacochi intending to visit relatives in the Holy City of Franly, but our guide led us astray, and we encountered an accident. Fortunately, the God of War is merciful to His lost followers, guiding us to follow the river downstream, and indeed, we encountered this kind and prosperous village. What is the name of this village?” Charlie asked.

“Your Lordship, this is Horn Village, fifty miles south of Ropappas City,” Dave carefully said. “I once heard from a merchant in the city that it takes five days to ride the fastest horse from Ropappas to the Royal City, and ten to fifteen days by carriage.”

He felt the noble lord surely wanted to return as soon as possible.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently, “We need to buy servants and a carriage… Perhaps there is a workshop in the village that sells carriages?”

Dave shook his head. “Your Lordship, carriages are for the gentry. People in Horn Village don’t have that luxury. We make what we need in the village, and what we can’t make, we buy in the city.”

The shopkeeper showed a fittingly troubled expression. “Fifty miles isn’t a short distance for those weary in body and mind. I can barely manage, but my master absolutely cannot endure another such journey. Perhaps we could buy two horses?”

Dave found himself even more troubled.

Compared to private estates and manors, although Horn Village was relatively autonomous under administrative governance, it also faced heavy taxes. No household could afford to use horses for work.

They had donkeys, but even if they were willing to sell, a noble lord couldn’t possibly travel on a donkey…

As Mrs. Milou came in with a plate of fried eggs and heard this, she hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “Then, how about buying from Thorn Manor? That lord is very wealthy…”

Dave nodded. “There’s a manor over the hill. The lord of that manor is wealthy, and it’s said that he has dozens of fine horses in his stables. He would surely be willing to extend his hand to Your Lordship.”

Charlie noted that Dave referred to the manor’s owner as “Lord”.

“Does the manor owner not have a title?” Charlie asked casually.

“Thorn Manor was originally the property of a Viscount from Syriacochi, but after he fell into hardship, it was bought by the current lord. The manor would certainly be eager to assist such an esteemed person,” Dave said. “That was just five years ago. The manor doesn’t really interact much with the surrounding towns. We’re the nearest village to them, and our relationship is neither close nor distant, but the people in their village are quite decent.”

Mrs. Milou and Dave clearly weren’t in a social class that had direct access to the lord of the manor, and after racking their brains, they could say no more about Thorn Manor. They left apologetically, rubbing their hands and leaving the brightest living room for their guests to “enjoy” their food.

Mokwen was a typical inland kingdom, and small villages like Horn Village still used crude salt with a backward processing method, which itself carried a harsh taste. Mrs. Milou, probably fearing that she might neglect her distinguished guests, added quite a bit more, making the fried eggs both salty and bitter. Even the Duke, who had become accustomed to camping outdoors, found it hard to swallow, whereas the rabbit-headed shopkeeper seemed to enjoy everything and showed no signs of last night’s distress.

“So, are we going back to the manor where the carriages are?” the Duke purposely asked him. “That’s the only place with a carriage.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “Did you throw everything I said last night into the garden? We—absolutely—cannot—get close—to the Lamp Bearers. Although I don’t know what the background of the lord of Thorn Manor is, anyone associated with the Lamp Bearers cannot be good. Hmm, this explains the actions of dragging bodies into the forest to bury at midnight and the tales of maids disappearing like fairy tales. That manor must be exploring some sort of clandestine ritual… But usually, those fond of dark magic don’t have the means or the ability to contact the Lamp Bearers. Only groups with sufficient power and authority can.”

“What does the appearance of the Lamp Bearers imply?” the Duke pressed.

Judging from the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s demeanor, he sensed that these ominous beings were a taboo, but the shopkeeper clung tightly to his silence.

This only piqued his curiosity more.

“In the noble circles of Pennigra, there are followers of the God of Darkness, but the Dwight family has never heard of the Lamp Bearers from them.” Dwight sat in the cluttered little farmhouse, yet his demeanor was still as if he were sitting in a magnificent hall. “If they are not what you call ‘groups with sufficient power and authority’, then it must be the Black Gold Families. After centuries of mutual containment and attrition, their territories have waxed and waned. Could someone be attempting to reshuffle powers using the strength of a dark god? If Thorn Manor is backed by one of the Black Gold Families, then who could it be?”

The Duke of Brandenburg turned his face towards the window. The sunlight gently dusted his nose with gold, but his profile remained sharply cold. “Is it the Foxs, who master passion and intelligence? Or the Lions, who deal in forbidden drugs and violence? Or perhaps the Monkeys who oversee the underground trade, or the irrational gamblers, the Wolfs?”

Mrs. Milou had planted some insect-repelling herbs under the window. Their fragrance slightly diluted the smell of the fried eggs in the room.

The young Duke unconsciously tapped on the wooden table contemplatively. “These monstrous creatures in the sewers depend on each other yet resist one another. It’s very likely that any one of them might resort to underhanded tactics.”

Charlie drank the last of his wine, not joining the conversation.

These names, like summoning demons in any city’s underbelly, spoken by the Duke in a careless, half-mocking tone, suddenly gave him a sense of absurd unreality.

Monstrous creatures… Indeed, he thought the description couldn’t be more apt.

“Whoever it is, we have no need to get involved with them,” he pointed out calmly. “The best thing now is to find Columbus and then stay away from these suspicious people and events. It’s unwise to invite complications at any time.”

The Duke’s train of thought was interrupted, and he glanced at him with displeasure, but he inwardly admitted the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s point was valid.

If they were in Lemema, he had wealth and power at his disposal and could track down anything that interested him—even the color of the Emperor’s underwear—of course, a respectable nobleman would never do such a thing.

But on the vulnerable continent of Doran, excessive curiosity could very well bring deadly trouble.

“Ridiculous. Why would we get involved with them?” The Duke snorted. “Let that peasant woman clean my cloak, and then we’ll have a decent dinner. Shivers should be able to find us by the markers soon. As for that tin soldier, if folding hands in prayer and your little magic tricks for finding people work, his safety won’t be a problem. We’ll be able to leave here quietly soon enough.”

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>