Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 91
“Did you know in advance that Lestrop would make a move against Tifa?” Shivers asked in a lowered voice.
Yitzfa and he were standing in a wooden cabinet, just over three feet apart. The cramped space meant their bodies were only a fraction of a fist’s width. The smell of poor-quality pine mixed with the musty scent of aged wool made it hard to resist sneezing without great willpower.
Upon hearing the question, Yitzfa blinked and suddenly reached out to touch Shivers’s abdominals.
Shivers: “???”
If not for the tight space and his vivid memory that they were supposed to be hiding, he might have reflexively fought back against Yitzfa.
Being taller than Yitzfa, from his angle, all he could see was the soft top of his head and a perky nose.
“Nice physique,” Yitzfa commented, irrelevantly. “It’s evidence of strict training without slacking off.”
Shivers helplessly asked, “What do you mean?”
“Lestrop is the same.” Yitzfa’s voice was almost a whisper. “He’s twenty-seven this year, already an Earl, and is married. There hasn’t been any major warfare on Mokwen’s borders in recent years.”
Shivers immediately understood his point—Lestrop wasn’t a King, but he had rich lands and a gentle wife. At least on the surface, he had lived comfortably for a long time, yet he still maintained a tall figure, was full of energy, and had a sharp look. Anyone who saw him wouldn’t doubt that if he took up a sword and mounted a horse, the Earl would still be the valiant prince of years past.
In contrast, the brother who sat on the throne, though of a similar age, already had a slack and swollen face, and beneath the royal robes, there was a sense of being overwhelmed.
This was certainly related to their characters. Even when the old king was still ruling, Tifa wasn’t a warmonger. His study of horsemanship and combat, aside from following Mokwen’s tradition of martial rule, was more about currying favor with the old king.
That’s why Lestrop was once the favored one. Such people weren’t easily corrupted by fine wine and bed curtains. They pursued only power and strength.
Even after his brother took the throne, he never slacked off, which only meant his gaze had never left the palace.
No wonder Tifa became more and more restless day by day. Being watched by a sharp opponent like a hawk, anyone would reach their limit.
“Although the Holy Grail trials haven’t yet succeeded, Tifa has noticed the existence of the manor and has made several probes… Lestrop has always been more dominant than Tifa, and as a counterattack and warning, he “dealt with” several of Tifa’s mistresses.”
Unlike Lestrop, who preferred traditional noble women, Tifa, as the first to introduce Mokwen’s flamboyant and splendid style, leaned towards passionate and bold women of lower status, especially with the advent of the flying box, allowing him to pick from beauties from all over—those known for their beauty, aside from the socialites in upper circles, were mostly famous courtesans.
Shivers remembered the early days in Doran, the scandalous murders occasionally seen in the morning paper by the Duke, and the vicious incident Eugene witnessed in the back alleys of Syriacochi.
Those innocent women who died were all pregnant… Lestrop was intentionally selecting mistresses who had successfully conceived, provoking the King in an extremely cruel manner.
Thus, Tifa, unable to endure any longer, first confined Christine, the Queen rumored to be entangled with the Earl, and then, during Lestrop’s trip to White Bridge with his wife, he made his move on the manor. The attack at the Lababata border was also hard to completely dissociate from the King.
Whether it was Christine or another pawn placed in the royal city, Lestrop received news midway and secretly hurried back.
Even if unrelated to this royal struggle, Shivers still understood why the old king favored Lestrop. So far in this fraternal conflict, except for the matter of succession, Lestrop had almost always had the upper hand over Tifa.
But perhaps because of this, the old king ultimately chose Tifa over Lestrop.
In dealing with Tifa’s women, Lestrop showed unnecessary cruelty, which, while coldness might be a necessary quality for a ruler, cruelty wasn’t.
“Tifa’s military sense is inferior to Lestrop’s. After succeeding, he spent years integrating the royal army, which is why he didn’t kill Lestrop outright back then and only suppressed him with the title of Earl.”
“Do you think he’s ready now?” Yitzfa chuckled barely audibly. “Ready to be the final victor.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Shivers also spoke in a barely audible volume. “But one thing’s for sure. I’m not ready to be touched by a man in a cabinet for so long.”
Yitzfa’s hand was still resting on his abdomen.
“Ah, sorry,” Yitzfa looked down and said without any hint of apology.
Shivers understood that as a Fox, even if one didn’t need to scurry around like a lower-class worker, familiarity with the romantic realm was common, and there were even rumors that the higher one’s status in this family, the more pleasurable secrets one held—secrets generally unseen by ordinary people. To them, the boundaries of physical contact may be different from those of ordinary people.
The Knight Commander considered himself an ordinary person. His mind might be clear, but his body could easily be misunderstood.
So, he changed the subject. “Tifa will not personally step onto the battlefield, but once the conflict erupts, he will not be safe in the royal city either.”
Lestrop wouldn’t let him stay away from the flames of war, sitting in the palace controlling everything. Rather, having come this far, he must also have made arrangements in the royal city.
At that moment, a muffled commotion came from outside, and the two immediately stopped talking, instinctively slowing their breathing.
Their chosen hiding place was a storage room in the farmhouse, used for storing useless items that the general farming household had no right to touch. Most of it was outdated, moldy flour and hunting gear from years ago—considered trash by the mansion’s people but not something the farmers could easily handle.
Thus, they were in a rarely visited storage room.
The battle would likely take place on the periphery of the farmhouse, with women and children gathered in places like the mill that had water reserves, and labor and combat forces moving to the front lines, creating a few temporary vacuums in the farmhouse.
Shivers listened intently for a while. The noise outside didn’t reach their storage room but seemed to be next door—in the place where communal iron tools were stored, chaotic footsteps and shouts intermingled.
His spirits lifted.
Since hiding in this cabinet, his sense of time had become strangely blurred. They had no other contacts, and it was difficult to know what was happening outside, so he specifically chose this storage room for its proximity to the iron tools next door.
The manor was guarded by a small armed force, and Lestrop’s return would also bring soldiers. If they needed to open the iron tool warehouse under these circumstances, it meant that ordinary farmers were also being armed for battle.
The scale of the battle was larger than the manor had anticipated, and it had already begun.
He nudged Yitzfa, and the two held their breath, waiting for the noise outside to gradually subside before gently pushing open the cabinet door and moving aside several half-person-tall wooden racks used as cover.
This was pre-planned. The storeroom was a visual dead spot in the early stages of the conflict, and almost no one would come here. However, as the situation evolved, it was uncertain if someone might take advantage of the chaos to “shear the Lord’s wool”—in the eyes of the farmhands, this storeroom might contain many treasures they had never seen, posing a risk of exposure if they hid there for too long.
Yitzfa tightened his slightly loose belt. The clothes he was wearing weren’t his, but rather tattered disguises Shivers had scrounged up from somewhere. Though they had been washed in advance, he still thought they smelled of stinking cheese.
Shivers was dressed even more shabbily and had dyed his bright blonde hair a nondescript dark brown. Bending his back to alter his posture, he looked completely different from the handsome traveler hotly discussed by the ladies in town.
“This color is really ugly,” Yitzfa critically said. “What kind of dye is this? Can it be washed out?”
Shivers adjusted the wrinkled hem of his garment. Blending into crowds was something Eugene was quite good at, and Shivers had learned many tricks from him.
“We’ll just go out the door,” he said quickly, ignoring Yitzfa’s comment about his hair color. “There’s no need to avoid the crowd. In chaotic situations, the more you blend into the crowd, the less noticeable you are. Be quick once you spot the target. Don’t stop along the way and show no signs of guilt on your face. If someone suspects and stops you, take the initiative and scold them fiercely.”
Yitzfa nodded.
Though he always appeared nonchalant, he knew when to be serious.
“Take this.” Shivers pulled out a large basket from the storeroom and filled it with what might be blankets or shawls, piled high enough to cover the lower half of his face without overly obstructing his vision.
“Follow closely behind me—if someone respectable-looking stops us, say that the Lord of the Manor kindly sent us to deliver blankets to the women and children hiding at the mill. If they are dressed like us, say the Lord ordered us to move things from the storeroom to the manor.” Shivers also shouldered a wicker basket and, after ensuring there was little activity outside, gently pushed open the door. “Let’s go.”
It was the first time the farm had been this chaotic.
The moon had risen high in the sky, and torches blazed around the barn and at the troughs. Some women, clutching children who didn’t understand what was happening, ran towards the gathering places, while more people ran back and forth on the usually quiet paths, shouting loudly, their faces unnaturally flushed by the firelight.
Most people knew what was happening: the manor was under attack, the Lord was leading soldiers in defense at the periphery, and the elderly, with some authority in the farmhouse, directed them to scatter and hide, reassuring everyone in hushed tones that there would be no problem and that the men would soon drive back the intruders.
Only a very few bold individuals who had been outside before murmured that a fully armed troop had arrived, with shields so identical and shiny from a distance that they hardly looked like the rabble the elders described.
More like some kind of regular army.
But they were just law-abiding farmers, most of whom had never left the farm or entered a city. Why would a regular army come to attack them?
Although they dared not voice this question aloud, many still stole glances towards the majestic manor on the hillside before quickly averting their eyes.
With their status, they had no way of knowing the true identity of the Lord inside the manor.
Only when suddenly faced with a crisis did many realize that, from birth to death, they and their forebears, even their descendants, belonged to the farm yet knew so little about their own home.
Until someone came knocking, they didn’t know why.
This confusion heightened everyone’s fear, and many instinctively ran to their relatives and friends at the designated shelters. Apart from those armed, few took the road up the hill, which led to the manor and had once been a path many young people aspired to follow.
This greatly facilitated Shivers and Yitzfa’s mission. Civilians who had never experienced war wouldn’t notice anyone moving in a different direction in their panic. They encountered little scrutiny and soon reached the outskirts of the manor.
However, the defenses here were much stricter than at the farm. All doors and windows were tightly shut from the inside, and the watchtowers were brightly lit by fire, ensuring not even a fox could approach the manor through the bushes.
Shivers and Yitzfa discarded their baskets and disguises in the shadows and observed their surroundings from a distance.
“One guard each at the left and right of the main door, one at the back,” the Knight Commander said. “We’ll enter through the back door.”
Yitzfa pointed to the two archers on the watchtower near the back door. “How are we going to get in?”
“Just knock them down,” Shivers said succinctly, his attention focused on the two men above.
The watchtower was fortified, and attacking from the ground wasn’t only visually challenging but also limited the strength of any arrows—beyond the archers’ line of sight, the arrows wouldn’t reach, and if they adjusted for the range of the arrows, they’d be spotted by the two men on the tower and turned into pincushions.
Although he thought Shivers’s serious demeanor was quite handsome, Yitzfa still thought his statement was obvious.
But the next second, he saw Shivers, like a mage, pulling several strange parts from various places on his clothes and starting to assemble them right there.
“What’s that?” Yitzfa squatted down to watch his movements.
“A crossbow,” Shivers replied without looking up, quickly fitting the parts into place. “A friend made it… Easy to assemble and disassemble, with a range and power greater than those above.”
After assembling it, he suddenly remembered something and said to Yitzfa, “He also made a smaller hand crossbow that doesn’t require much strength to use. That one would suit you well.”
Yitzfa let out a long “Oh,” and then watched as Shivers pulled out a strange gray-white spherical object.
“I guess, this is also made by your friend?” he said.
Shivers didn’t answer but just grinned and stood up straight in the shadow of the hedge, suddenly throwing his arm up. There was a popping sound in the distant bushes, and a conspicuous puff of smoke appeared.
But Shivers didn’t pay attention to that direction. Yitzfa, following Shivers’s gaze, looked up to see both archers raising their bows and leaning over the railing of the watchtower, half their bodies sticking out.
Shivers raised the crossbow, accurately targeting their silhouettes.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said briskly.
The author has something to say:
Charlie: Is there a rank difference in the Knight Order?
Shiloh: Apart from the captain, everyone is the same.
Charlie: Then why is Hasting the one who takes over Shivers’ duties when he’s away, rather than Hall or any other knight?
Shiloh: I haven’t thought about that… Maybe because Hasting is most like the captain?
Eugene: ??? In what way? They’re different in appearance, personality, and how they treat people.
Shiloh: The way he gets uncontrollably excited during battle is quite similar.
Hasting: Wait, when did I become a pervert?
Hall: You didn’t know about your own nickname?
Hasting: What nickname?!!
Shiloh: The captain is usually very gentlemanly but turns into a bad guy when fighting. You usually have no expression, but you smile when fighting. The difference is so big it can only be described as perverted.
Charlie: Huh, I really want to know how perverted they get during a fight.
Hall: Don’t worry, Hasting, only the enemies see your perverted side. It doesn’t affect how women see you.
Hasting: Can you guys stop repeating the word ‘perverted’?
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