Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 77

Charlie himself wasn’t sure if he really counted as friends with Kurt.

Before the astrologer showed up at 22 Paulownia Street in the middle of the night a few years ago, carrying his meager belongings, Charlie had never seen a real astrologer.

Kurt, in exchange for a safe residence “where no one could easily tread”, offered annual predictions during his tenancy as payment to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

He had chosen the right person. The situation in Pennigra was relatively stable, and Charlie, quite skilled in staying out of sight, provided Kurt shelter in the Green Forest, making him a neighbor neither too close nor too distant.

The legendary astrologer had a very agreeable personality. Besides astrology, he was also deeply versed in architecture and economics, among other fields, making him one of the few people Charlie had met whose reading volume far surpassed his own.

Their interactions were infrequent, but every year, before the first heavy snow, Charlie would venture deep into the Green Forest to bring winter supplies for Kurt and also to check on his reclusive tenant.

They would smoke together on the treehouse balcony, and then Kurt would enthusiastically recommend erotic novels that he wrote—using a pseudonym; he had been writing novels for some time, but there were no more than three book dealers across any continent willing to invest in them. Charlie once suspected that one of the reasons Kurt was short on money was his spending too much on this hopeless hobby.

But overall, they got along quite well, probably because they could both sense in each other the same sort of guarded bird, always fearful of being discovered.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sat on the roof, watching his own smoke rings quickly dissipate in the air.

The Duke hadn’t actually decided to go to White Bridge. More than just Charlie was wary of that lawless area, and as a Dwight, there were many things he needed to consider.

However, he had already sent Hall to follow Priscilla’s caravan, and he planned to catch up soon—traveling through other kingdoms between Syriacochi and White Bridge. Although Lestrop was also traveling with them, finding a moment for a private meeting wasn’t hard. What really perplexed the Duke was what to do about his sister, Priscilla.

They knew nothing about whether Priscilla was aware of, or to what extent she understood, the clandestine experiments of the Mokwen royal family. She wasn’t a naive noblewoman. Dwight believed she couldn’t be completely unaware of her husband’s and his relatives’ movements.

Dwight was accustomed to being fully prepared. The worst possibility was that Priscilla might be used by Lestrop as a vessel for the Holy Grail—an ordinary pregnancy wouldn’t continuously drain life from a mother, as her roses had proven.

He had no emotional attachment to the unborn child, and if Priscilla was willing to cooperate and abandon the child in time, there might still be a chance. But knowing his sister, Dwight felt this was unlikely.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had always maintained an optimistic outlook on this issue. Part of the reason for the deaths of the innocent women at Thorn Estate was the estate rulers’ focus on the children far more than the mothers. Women were extremely vulnerable after childbirth, and neglect could indeed lead to loss of life.

But with Priscilla’s status as a Countess, unless she was inherently frail, she would surely have doctors and maids in attendance at her delivery, making any mishap during childbirth unlikely.

Caring too much could cloud judgment. Charlie understood the reasons behind the Duke’s costly and consequential personal journey across the continent. Humans couldn’t survive alone. They must invest parts of their souls in loved ones or friends. Knowing in advance that the last place one had left to invest might disappear made any effort to save it seem trivial.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper took a puff of his cigarette. His gaze was melancholic as he stared at the starry night sky.

The Duke was still so young, instinctively knowing he didn’t want to face the consequences of losing Priscilla… If it were him at that age, losing his little tin soldier, he’d probably be even more bewildered than the current Duke.

After all, he had only had Columbus by his side for a long time.

Charlie bent one leg, casually setting aside his pipe.

Columbus understood this, which was why he tirelessly, repeatedly reminded him: No one can truly be ready to face death calmly, but what’s truly frightening isn’t death itself, but the feeling of helplessness when that moment arrives.

“We shouldn’t have any regrets,” the little tin soldier had once said seriously to him. “I think Maplewood is great. Sunny days are good, rainy days too. Staying in to read is good, and so is going out for a walk, Charlie. If one day we’re apart, that should be celebrated—as long as we’ve tried our best every day, death won’t be scary.”

Thinking this, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper finally admitted to himself that he was still somewhat resentful: not because Columbus had run into the fire, but because before doing so, Columbus hadn’t even looked back at him.

The separation without goodbye made him feel abandoned, yet he was reluctant to believe he could have such a childish thought.

But he shouldn’t have doubted Columbus, who was sometimes a bit naive but had always been incredibly steadfast—his long companionship had been a lengthy goodbye.

“You’re right, Columbus,” Charlie said softly, removing his bowler hat and placing it beside him, lightly flicking the stiff brim with his finger. “Long live friendship.”

Yitzfa sat in the carriage, peering out of the bright window at the roadside, just in time to see Shivers standing in a morning robe on the porch.

The messenger boy was short and seemed to struggle a bit on tiptoes, so the tall blonde man leaned slightly to listen, his green eyes intensely focused on the boy, making it hard to tell whether his gaze or the slightly warm morning sun was more tender.

No wonder those women tirelessly speculated about his background and identity. Nearly no one believed this man was just a moderately well-off traveler. The lady of the house where he was staying even suspected he was some king’s illegitimate son.

Yitzfa withdrew his gaze, aware that, despite his harmless appearance, the other was well-trained, and lingering too long might alert him.

Only that group of idle ladies really thought he was a wandering Romeo… As far as he knew, more than one lady was already scheming how to keep him there long-term.

Mrs. Dolly, sitting opposite him, was still intently watching Shivers until the messenger boy hurried across the lawn and climbed into the carriage, then she reluctantly turned her head.

“Poor Green. Last year’s harsh winter caused some problems with his lungs, and he still can’t be active for long periods. May God bless him.” Mrs. Dolly’s voice was thin and sharp, like a lively little bird. “But I believe he’s much better now. At least he looks fine, and we’re just going for a spring outing. It shouldn’t be too burdensome for him.”

Yitzfa didn’t respond and just nodded.

This naive lady fully believed his story about searching for his sister, but Thorn Estate wasn’t a place a few gentries could just probe into, so Yitzfa wasn’t worried about his cover being blown. Rather, if they really found a way into the Thorn Estate, he could abandon his current identity at any time, as his usefulness to the local upper class would be over.

But until then, he still had to put some effort into dealing with these people…

Yitzfa withdrew his thoughts, lowering his eyes to look at Mrs. Dolly beside him. As the carriage moved further away, her attention shifted from the handsome traveler back to Yitzfa—he could almost effortlessly read their thought patterns, making the whole affair exceedingly dull.

Even duller than usual.

Yitzfa pursed his lips.

Yitzfa had originally thought he would need to make an effort to please this woman to gain entry into the upper echelons of this city, but ironically, it wasn’t just Mrs. Dolly who took a fancy to him—her husband did too. Sometimes the way the man looked at him almost made him laugh out loud.

To Yitzfa, it didn’t really matter whether the person was male or female, and usually, by just appearing fragile and easily frightened, it was hard to tell who would end up being the pleaser.

It wasn’t uncommon for both spouses to take an interest in him at the same time, but the morals of this small town were a bit more conservative compared to those of various kingdoms, probably because of their marital status. Both were cautious and restrained each other, which actually made the well-prepared Yitzfa somewhat bored.

…He had never before spent so much time flirting with someone only to have nothing but a “good night” at the end of the day.

It was almost as pure as needing just a bedtime story and some warm milk.

Mrs. Dolly was enthusiastic. “Mr. Morris’ vacation villa is near the valley, not far from the estate. We could invite the owner to join us for croquet and chess, and dancing in the evening. Then we might learn about your sister’s whereabouts.”

“That sounds really interesting,” Yitzfa said. “I’ve never played croquet before.”

“Peter will teach you.” Mrs. Dolly patted the back of his hand. “Mr. Green is also quite good at croquet. I heard him say he competed in Syriacochi two autumns ago. I must say, traveling around is fine, but it’s really not safe, especially for a bachelor like him, falling ill with no reliable maid at his side.”

She then exaggeratedly portrayed the drawbacks and potential terrible outcomes of wandering around, as if worried that Yitzfa might want to leave the city and travel somewhere—no, that would not do, at least not now.

There wasn’t another boy as handsome as him in the whole city, and Mrs. Dolly was very aware of the value of a beautiful person.

Yitzfa listened obediently to her, pretending as if his experiences wandering between continents from a young age never existed.

Mrs. Dolly was still young and fairly good-looking, though a bit gossipy, which actually worked in Yitzfa’s favor.

Her husband Peter was also decent-looking. His father was a retired teacher, and his mother was the granddaughter of a Baron, so their family had always considered themselves superior. Even though Peter now dealt in cleaning products, they still claimed to be descendants of a family of educators.

Probably constrained by this ‘status’, the couple temporarily maintained the restraint typical of cultured people, treating Yitzfa as if they truly had rescued a poor orphan, mercifully providing him with a house and meals, and treating him like their own child (though the young couple had no children yet).

This absurd act was transparent to anyone with eyes, but in circles that value propriety, no one would discuss such things openly. The Peters were happy to play dumb—it was hard to say if the couple had discussed this matter, but Yitzfa understood they hadn’t yet reached an agreement, and he was happy to relax as a result.

After all, it didn’t really matter who won.

Yitzfa remembered Mrs. Dolly had casually mentioned that if Mrs. Doug hadn’t been pregnant, she definitely wouldn’t have let the handsome guest slip away. Interestingly, many people thought Mr. Green was a noble gentleman who, regardless of whether the landlady was pregnant or not, wouldn’t commit any immoral acts, leaving only unmarried women actually likely to have an opportunity.

Look at that. Despite doing the same things as him, the other man managed to maintain such a glowing image.

Yitzfa’s gaze dropped, pretending not to notice Mrs. Dolly’s hand resting on his arm.

Because suddenly, he found he had absolutely no interest in it.

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