Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 92

Under normal circumstances, a luxurious mansion was more refined, comfortable, and warm than a castle built with bare stones, but this rule didn’t apply here.

The first time Shivers entered the farmhouse near this place, he chose not to enter the mansion itself out of caution. It was only now, as he ventured deeper, that he realized this large house seemed to be split into two parts from the inside. With a central line as the axis, the right side featured tapestries, chandeliers, and stained glass windows in red, green, and blue—a conventional structure. Shivers believed that if he followed the wooden peach-tip arched corridor forward, he would see an exquisite front porch, hallways with warm-toned mahogany closets and handrails, and a meticulously decorated living room, smoking room, and dining room, perhaps even including a small stage with a screen for band performances during banquets.

However, the other side was starkly different, characterized by cold hardness, with black metal doors set into stone walls, and hallways adorned with various stone-carved guardian beasts, appearing damp and chilly.

As intruders who were unwelcome to the light, they unanimously chose the left side without much thought or discussion. Such overly austere, opaque interior decor was highly unusual for a manor like this. The all-stone walls and nearly undecorated spaces reminded Yitzfa and Shivers of something entirely not residential, more like a secretive, closed-off monastery.

This type of overly ascetic architectural style wasn’t very common in Pennigra, but it wasn’t entirely extinct: they were usually built in remote rural areas, away from bustling populations, to accommodate zealous hermits or, during outbreaks of infectious diseases, to serve as quarantine sites for the infected.

Unlike the noisy and chaotic farmhouse, the mansion, unaware of a breached watchtower, remained orderly. The anxiety from below didn’t permeate the thick stone walls to affect the people inside. In the corridors and staircases that connected various spaces, maids in uniform dark dresses occasionally passed by in pairs or trios, not talking to each other and showing little sign of anxiety, though occasionally a steward would pass through the corridors in a serious manner, carrying or holding some wrapped items.

Shivers’ brow twitched as he pressed down on Yitzfa, who was trying to peek at what they were carrying.

Their overly tattered attire didn’t attract much attention in the farmhouse, but it was very conspicuous inside the mansion. Fortunately, the internal security forces were fewer than he had expected.

Yitzfa, held back by Shivers and unable to speak out, still managed to gesture frantically. Shivers ignored him and patiently waited until two men pushing carts appeared in their line of sight, then threw something that emitted a faint sound, extinguishing the sole light illuminating the corridor.

Everything happened very quickly.

Yitzfa’s eyes hadn’t even fully adjusted to the darkness when a bundle of hastily rolled-up clothes was stuffed into his arms—likely belonging to one of the unfortunate cart-pushers.

The person’s actions were incredibly fast—he couldn’t understand how in a few minutes of darkness, someone could manage to knock down two people, strip off their clothes, roll them up like garments, and stuff them into a cart—steps that even in broad daylight he would find challenging to accomplish.

“What’s in the cart?” Yitzfa asked quietly, trying to discern the front and back of the clothes in the pitch dark.

Shivers was silent, quickly putting on a coat and then pulling Yitzfa, hastily stripping off his torn robe.

“Oh my,” Yitzfa said, “What are you doing? Now’s not the time to be getting touchy…”

The Knight Commander stuffed his head through the neckline, swiftly dressing him like a preschool child.

By the time the lights were lit again, the two had barely changed clothes in less than thirty seconds. A maid, lifting her skirt, appeared at the end of the corridor—just relit, the light wasn’t yet bright enough, and she was more focused on the floor. She politely nodded to the two men, who courteously made way for her to pass, then walked by them.

As if confirming their suspicions, the further they walked, the more the structure resembled a penitentiary. In the long corridor, there were three narrow doors on each side, some slightly open, others locked.

“Just these tablecloths.” Shivers gently closed the door, careful not to make a sound, but the rusty metal still emitted a few faint creaks, particularly clear in the quiet space.

They randomly chose a door in the middle on the left, slightly ajar. The cold air inside told the visitors that the room wasn’t frequented. Thus, Shivers and Yitzfa also pushed the cart containing the two unconscious servants inside—along with them, the small room was nearly full.

Yitzfa took a moment to realize Shivers had just answered his question from a few minutes ago about what was in the cart.

It must be said, the timing was perfect. The cart, originally just a frame, was neatly covered with tablecloths to hide the two unfortunate knocked-out servants, successfully deceiving anyone who looked. If they had been a little slower, he might have had to rudely deal with the woman who appeared afterward.

Yitzfa pulled out a matchbox from somewhere, lighting up a small area by his hand. Shivers watched as he quickly shook out a tablecloth with one hand, inspected each piece of what seemed to him ordinary green embroidered tablecloths, then glanced at a few silver plates in the corner of the cart.

To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, Yitzfa quickly snuffed out the light with a snap.

“Lestrop has indeed returned,” he said in the dark.

Before Tifa’s guards and the Southern Lord arrived, they had hidden in the farmhouse’s storeroom, only able to guess from the frantic farmers what was happening outside the manor. Only now did Yitzfa confirm that the true master of the manor, Lestrop, had indeed arrived.

“How so?” asked Shivers.

“The tablecloths are all clean, no stains,” Yitzfa briefly summarized. “There are two fruit silver plates and a covered dessert plate by the feet of that unconscious gentleman, mostly intact except for some slight enamel wear on the edges, not easily noticed without close inspection.”

This was the basic preparation any trained steward would make upon the return of the master, irrespective of whether the house owner was fastidious or not.

This also related to the route they chose. On the more habitable right side, it was probably in complete disarray now. The maids must follow the steward to reorganize all the tableware, decorations, and bed linens, while the servants were responsible for checking chandeliers, dismantling curtains, and disposing of discarded furniture—they had just caught two unlucky ones transporting tablecloths, probably trying to take a shortcut through less crowded areas, only to be knocked out.

Shivers raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised that Yitzfa actually made some sense. He didn’t want to judge by appearances, but Yitzfa had indeed always seemed more interested in rolling in perfumes than doing serious work. That he could analyze the situation accurately without adding chaos at such a time made Shivers revise his opinion of him.

“This place doesn’t seem like it’s lived in year-round, more like a confinement… solitary cell.” Yitzfa, having gradually adapted to the darkness, could vaguely make out the simple furnishings in the narrow room: a single bed, a wooden bedside table with something on it—perhaps a candlestick—and a stool barely qualifying as a chair.

“This environment isn’t suitable for pregnant women,” Shivers analyzed. “For the sake of the fetus, the manor would take proper care of them. This place is probably used to punish and brainwash those who are uncooperative or to house those who have lost their utility.”

He was reluctant to call it a cell, not only because building something resembling a dungeon within a dwelling was somewhat over the line, but also because standing in this narrow, boxy space made him more acutely aware of the suffering that innocent people, manipulated and even killed by the estate over the years, must have endured.

Lestrop certainly didn’t return to check on sheets and utensils. Rather, the manor, located halfway up the hill and somewhat distant from the foothills’ farmhouse, couldn’t be updated in real time about what was happening on the periphery, which was why the panic hadn’t spread around the manor.

“What are the chances that Lestrop would personally appear at the front line when the fighting starts?” Yitzfa suddenly asked.

“More than half,” Shivers conservatively replied. “The manor isn’t a castle. A siege wouldn’t last very long.”

“Living areas on the right, solitary cells on the left…” Yitzfa pondered for a moment.

Logically, people tend to keep valuable items within a somewhat private line of sight, such as in bedrooms or study room secret compartments, suggesting they might need to head right.

But the division of the mansion was quite extreme. Residential and almost non-existent guest (except necessary visitors like doctors) functions were concentrated on the right, while the left side featured the cold setting of a penitentiary, indicating that this end was less willing to be scrutinized.

Their time was limited. Even if the potion on the arrowheads could keep the two soldiers on the watchtower rigid until sunrise, those rotating and patrolling would notice something wrong, and there were also the two missing servants. Regardless of how stealthily and carefully they moved, they couldn’t afford to spend too much time analyzing.

“This corridor allows you to see straight to the end,” Yitzfa noted. “Only six rooms and four doors at the end, which have no bolts or locks. It’s probably a communal washroom. We should quickly check this area while it’s not crowded. If we find nothing, we’ll try to blend into the right side, getting into either a study or bedroom.”

This was a relatively safe method.

But his companion didn’t quite agree.

“That’s not efficient,” Shivers stated. “We’re limited on time, with little room for error. Lestrop will only be distracted by the battle temporarily. Once he turns his attention back to the manor, with his status and control, we’ll be like two moles trapped in a flooded burrow, forced to surface.”

Yitzfa looked up at him. The room had no windows, and the only light source was the dim corridor light seeping under the door, allowing him only to see a vague outline of the man standing in the center of the room. Yet, oddly, his eyes shone unnaturally bright in this environment—bright like a bonfire on a winter’s night.

Something was a bit off.

Yitzfa observed him closely to ensure nothing strange had happened to him, such as being possessed by some ancient grievance in this chilly place. But thinking back, even before they had infiltrated the manor, some of his actions had already seemed somewhat unfamiliar to him.

For instance, his responses to Yitzfa’s flirtatious behavior while hiding in the storeroom, his excitement when aiming at the two archers on the tower, and his current mental state, which differed from his usual gentle and cautious demeanor, all made him feel like he was meeting this man for the first time.

…How interesting.

Yitzfa blinked. “So, what are you planning to do?”

“Besides Lestrop, there must be someone else who manages the estate affairs in his absence. We’ll just ask him directly,” Shivers said without hesitation, not noticing his expression was more excited than serious.

What he meant by asking was not a polite knock followed by a face-to-face conversation at a tea table, but it appeared he was prepared for a more forceful approach.

The second or third in command at the manor wouldn’t be as easy to handle as the servants pushing the carts of tablecloths, always surrounded by aides. But the Knight Commander didn’t see this as a problem. The only issue was finding a place to hide Yitzfa—who could get hurt just by bumping into a wall or sharp furniture edge—before taking action.

“So, we…” Yitzfa started, but was suddenly silenced by a hand over his mouth.

Shivers quickly moved him to the side, pressing against the wall next to the door, careful to avoid angles that might reveal their shadows to anyone in the corridor.

Yitzfa’s eyes widened, completely unaware that someone had approached outside.

Each room’s metal door had a small, hinged flap that seemed designed for passing food or small items. They crouched slowly against the wall, and Shivers lifted a crack just enough to see the heel of the last person walking past the door.

They listened attentively. There was no sound of the flaps being moved or locks being opened on either side, suggesting the person had entered directly into the large room at the end of the corridor.

But given the external structure of the mansion, the room at the end of this left-wing corridor was already at the edge of the building. Unless the person was silently holding a secret meeting inside, they must have moved elsewhere through that room.

A secret room.

The word flashed through Shivers’s mind.

Just then, a warm, light tickling sensation passed through his palm. Looking down, he saw his right hand still covering Yitzfa’s mouth. Yitzfa, taking advantage of the posture, said something into his palm, prompting Shivers to quickly remove his hand.

“No need to choose anymore.” Yitzfa seemed unbothered by having his mouth covered, turning his head to repeat what he’d just said, his eyes squinting with a smile. If this expression were on a slightly less attractive face, it might have seemed somewhat sinister, but coming from Yitzfa, it carried a mischievous charm that was hard to be angry at.

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