Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 85
“So?” Shiloh crossed his arms, looking down at the boy standing in front of him.
The boy appeared no older than 12, with messy black hair half-covering his eyes, only revealing the lower half of his face marked with scabs and bruises. The corners of his mouth and the curve of his jaw were stubborn and defiant.
“So, this kid is coming with us,” said the rabbit-headed shopkeeper gently. “Because Erica has other work.”
Shiloh walked around the boy, pretending not to notice his slightly stiffened spine. “What’s your name?”
The boy remained silent.
“It seems he has no name and cannot speak.” Shiloh nodded. “A kid with an unknown background like this, just let him stay in the kitchen then. We’ve been short-staffed there lately.”
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked, about to say something, but Hasting stopped him with a look, and he held back.
Shiloh casually reached out to pull the boy’s arm. “I’ll take you to meet Aunt Bobo. Her potato soup is truly amazing. I hope you learn quickly—”
He cut himself off mid-sentence as he quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of silver whizzing past his side, almost too fast to see.
The red-haired young knight stepped back only half a step, turned to dodge the light, and instinctively blocked the boy’s right hand. Despite the age and size difference causing the boy some instability, Shiloh didn’t give him a chance to stagger. Before the boy could raise his hand to block, Shiloh had already grabbed him by the neck. The choke hold caused the boy’s eyes to bulge and veins to pop.
Hasting and Charlie, the other two adult men in the room, made no move, watching as Shiloh pressed the boy to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Hasting glanced at the boy’s right hand, which was still unwilling to let go of the dagger despite turning blue from lack of breath and shook his head.
Shiloh slightly loosened his grip to let air into the boy’s nostrils, but he didn’t let him go.
The boy gasped for air like a drowning fish, and after a while, he managed to say a few words in broken common language.
“Not… kitchen.”
Shiloh leaned in close (putting the weight back on) and said smilingly, “Hmm?”
“I want to see the Lord.” The boy’s voice rasped harshly, still gruff. “Erica… said so.”
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper squatted down. “That Lord is very important to Erica, and it’s not polite to meet him with weapons.”
The boy gasped a few more times before slowly letting go.
The sharpened dagger clattered to the ground.
Only then did Shiloh release him.
“I’ll ask you again. What’s your name?” he said.
The round-faced, round-eyed Shiloh looked surprisingly intimidating at this moment—nothing like the youth who got scolded by Erica and jostled with Eugene.
Hasting seemed accustomed to Shiloh’s demeanor and hadn’t intervened from the start.
“No name. If the Lord wants me, then I have a name,” the boy said as he got up from the ground, not sparing another glance at the dagger.
His speech was halting, but everyone understood.
The boy might have had a name in the past, but the moment he left, that name stayed behind.
And whatever way Erica acquired this boy, the disposal rights lay with the Duke, and only a name given by Duke Dwight would remain with him.
Shiloh snorted through his nose, remaining silent.
“Alright, no need for such tension,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently. “This is Shiloh, behind is Hasting, and I’m Charlie. If you want to meet that Lord, you can’t go looking like this.”
“I will become stronger,” the boy said stubbornly.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper struggled to suppress a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Erica might have left in a hurry and not had the chance to tell you, but to meet that Lord, you need to change your clothes first.”
Dressed in a traditional gray hemp robe from Lababata, the boy looked bewildered.
In the end, it took Charlie and Hasting some effort to convince him that Erica hadn’t sent him to be a hitman for some Lord—he was just too young.
Confused and resentful, the boy soon realized that all the men in the house were quite skilled. Accustomed from a young age to environments where fists determined authority, he became somewhat cooperative, though hardly compliant.
Erica had clearly had him cleaned up well, but his messy hair, slight frame, and colorful bruises still made him look somewhat disheveled.
“Our master is of noble status,” Hasting said. “Didn’t Erica mention this to you?”
The boy remained silent.
Erica was strong, much stronger than the fat pig who had treated him like a fighting dog, and that was the main reason he had followed her without resistance.
No matter the reason she had bought him, it didn’t matter; he could fight and was constantly improving. If it was with Erica, he believed he could become even stronger.
But Erica had said someone else had bought him, a noble of high status… In his view, nobles were mostly fat-brained, pleasure-seeking wretches. This arrangement didn’t sit well with him.
Yet, surprisingly, the subordinates of that high-status individual were also very strong. He hadn’t received proper education, but bowing his head under such a disparity in power wasn’t shameful—staying alive was most important.
These strange men told him he wasn’t qualified to meet Erica’s master, and the boy thought they were concerned about his height or that he was too skinny and couldn’t beat the red-haired boy…
It turned out it was because his clothes weren’t decent enough.
Such rules were indeed very noble.
Yet, he was also curious about what kind of person could command such loyalty from Erica and that absurdly strong red-haired boy.
He sat silently on a stool with a large cloth tied around his neck, and every time the sharp scissors clicked near his neck, he had to control his instinct to jump up.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was quite skilled at cutting hair. Shiloh, resting his chin in his hand, watched in amazement as, in less than half an hour, the boy’s tangled hair was neatly trimmed short, revealing a swollen and misshapen face.
It was only after Charlie had cut his hair short that he realized the boy’s injuries were more severe than he had thought (he forcibly pinched the cheeks to check inside the mouth. Fortunately, the teeth were intact, and there were no major issues with the facial bones).
Erica had given the Duke a detailed report on the boy’s background, but neither Shiloh nor Charlie had seen her letter. Just from seeing where the bruises were concentrated and his stubbornness in not letting go of the weapon, they could roughly guess what kind of life he had lived before.
Especially Shiloh. Although Shivers never let him near the underground arenas because of his young age, he knew from other teammates and Erica that occasionally they rescued minors from those places.
But most of those brought out from there had suffered irreversible damage, whether physically or mentally, and most ended up being sent to the countryside to live ordinary lives after recovering.
Thus, after a certain active Brandenburg knight, this was the first time a child had been brought before them.
So Shiloh was no longer angry about his unreasonable attitude, tilting his head as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper magically produce a suit of clothes in the right size and tell him to change.
“Swollen like that,” Shiloh sighed maturely. The Duke might not want to see him.
Injuries on duty were not a big deal. The Brandenburg Knights’ compensation and welfare were always very good.
But if it was swelling from a routine sparring (brawl), the Duke truly would refuse close contact on the pretext of injuring his eyes.
The clock had just struck nine when Hasting came downstairs.
“My Lord is upstairs,” he told the boy, now spruced up.
The boy, originally not nervous, became restrained after half an hour under the worried (?) gazes of the red-haired and rabbit-headed men, and because he had just been beaten by the red-haired man, he turned to look at the Rabbit Head.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. He…”
He paused for half a second, realizing that, eloquent as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to lie outright; that the grumpy Duke was very approachable, so he looked at Shiloh.
Shiloh immediately made himself scarce—joking aside, he certainly didn’t want to accompany him to see the Duke. Who would seek out a boss, especially one known for a bad temper, without good reason!
Hasting kept a stern face. “Sixteen minutes left.”
It was almost the Duke’s bedtime.
Charlie sighed internally.
He and Duke Dwight were still in an odd state of cold war, admittedly initiated by himself, but the Duke wasn’t one to take it lying down either, responding with an even tougher attitude as soon as he realized, which was utterly childish.
So, for now, apart from official matters, the two of them still ignore each other.
“Let’s go,” he said again to the boy, still looking confused. “It’s okay.”
Hearing a knock at the door, Dwight casually tossed a light-colored velvet cloth onto the back of a nearby chair, lifting one leg to admire the large glass jar that had been covered by the cloth.
This size of cone-shaped glass jar with an open top was quite rare, not to mention the delicate patterns on it. For personal preference, the lid was even inlaid with a green gem that resembled deep mountain amber.
Inside it soaked his Pluto Owl.
This guy, after absorbing a certain amount of alcohol, no longer swelled, but neither did it wake up. He could only continue to soak it in high-purity alcohol and observe it every day.
He could swear on the Dwight family’s honor that he had seen the stomach under its wings faintly rise and fall several times! But it just wouldn’t open its eyes.
The door was knocked on again.
“Come in,” he said with a tone of slight impatience, glancing at the boy led by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper who entered the door.
The Duke’s gaze still rested on the glass jar silently.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched him coldly, also remaining silent for a while.
The black-haired boy, standing on an unbelievably soft carpet, found himself caught in a strange atmosphere, unsure if he should be the first to speak.
Mainly because his voice sounded terribly unpleasant now, he’d rather not speak unless necessary…
He looked again at the always gentle rabbit-headed man, feeling an extremely subtle sense of dependence that he himself hadn’t noticed.
Charlie was particularly adept at catching such subtle emotions that were easily overlooked, no matter who the subject was.
He sighed in his heart again.
“This is the boy Erica mentioned, Your Grace.” He finally spoke first.
If it were in the past, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would have found a seat and checked for snacks as soon as he entered the door, without waiting for someone else to prompt him.
But if there was a child waiting to be summoned by the Duke, he couldn’t just look after himself.
Seeing Rabbit Head (forced by the situation) take the initiative to speak and standing properly in front of him for a change, Dwight’s mood finally improved. He lifted his lashes in a gesture of lowering his dignity and glanced at the boy standing there.
Erica had told him that this was a boy whose combat experience didn’t match his age and that he had potential. Even the little girl from the Lion family wanted him.
Dwight didn’t collect combat geniuses as a hobby. Honestly, even without mentioning the Brandenburg Knights, the current reserves alone were quite plentiful. What pleased him more was the behavior of Erica snatching the person from the claws of a Lion, and then Rabbit Head lowering his head first. The Duke of Brandenburg felt that he could definitely sleep well tonight.
Thus, he was also willing to view the boy with a more forgiving attitude.
“How old?” he asked leisurely.
The boy was silent for a while.
For some reason, this Lord called “Your Grace” gave him an invisible pressure, making him feel that even raising his head to look directly at him without permission was unreasonable. He could only instinctively keep his head lowered.
“13 years old,” he said quietly.
If it were Erica or the redhead asking him, he would definitely say 15 years old, since he wasn’t sure of his age anyway.
“Lift your head,” Dwight said again.
The boy raised his head.
With his overgrown hair cut off, the painfully swollen face was completely visible, but the good-natured Duke didn’t mind these details.
He was interestedly observing the boy’s red eyes, a rare color combination.
Black hair and red eyes—an image many scriptures would choose to describe a demon.
Charlie paused for a moment, stepped forward half a step, and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, determined to leave if the guy casually said something nonsense like “Then your name will be Lucifer.”
Dwight gave him a provocative look.
“From now on, you will be called ‘Amber’,” he said slowly. “Once Emerald opens its eyes, you will be responsible for taking care of it. It matches well.”
Before the boy could respond, the rabbit-headed manager frowned and asked, “Excuse me, who is Emerald?”
He didn’t know there was someone named Emerald in this house.
The Duke gestured with his chin, and both the boy and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at the large glass jar. The Pluto Owl, now quite plump, quietly floated in the golden liquid.
The author has something to say:
About Amber.
Charlie: Although Amber sounds like a girl’s name, it’s okay. I was worried you’d choose something like Lucifer…
Dwight: Lucifer? Seems fitting. Maybe I should change it then.
Charlie: Let’s pretend I never said that.
About Emerald.
Charlie: How can you be so sure that the dragon-like creature’s eyes are green? Folk sculptures and picture books come in all colors.
Dwight: I checked by lifting its eyelids. (as a matter of course)
Charlie: Let’s pretend you never said that.
Kinky Thoughts:
There’s an underlying relation in the names of the wyvern (Pluto Owl) and Amber. The term used for Pluto is (冥王), referring to the king of the underworld. Pluto is also another name for Hades.
Likewise, Lucifer is the king of hell, making the relationship between the two names quite apt.
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