Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 93

Yitzfa had once explained the existence of the Holy Grail, but the more detailed his explanation, the more it seemed that the efforts of those outside the Black Gold Families bloodline were both futile and bizarre.

It had long been common for the Black Gold Families to maintain a united front of silence to outsiders, but there were no secrets that time didn’t reveal, no matter how harshly their disclosure was prohibited. Over time, secrets were inevitably eroded, much like a stone wall that appeared solid but slowly crumbled.

Shivers understood that once the existence of the Holy Grail was made public, it wouldn’t just be a few kingdoms in the southwestern part of the Doran continent that would be affected. Families with the legendary bloodline would also become common prey, elevated to sacrificial status on altars, unless they preemptively fulfilled the ambitions of people like Lestrop.

However, no historical records existed of such events, and given Yitzfa’s ambiguous stance, Shivers felt that this at least suggested that even within the families themselves, there was no consensus about the Holy Grail. Perhaps it was this balance of power that allowed the secret to remain dormant for centuries until it was recently glimpsed by outsiders.

Thorn Manor might just be a microcosm of the attempts by various parties on the continent to replicate the legend, but the thought that each step of their exploration was built on the futile efforts of skeletons made it unbearably infuriating.

As they suspected, the room at the end was indeed a communal washroom, with large stone slabs stacked to the ceiling. Directly opposite the entrance, a stained-glass window made of three colors formed a rose pattern but didn’t actually serve any practical purposes for ventilation or lighting. It seemed to exist solely for decoration.

The washroom wasn’t large. The rectangular space was rigidly divided into two rows, with five small shower stalls, all with closed doors. After checking each one and finding no one inside, they confirmed the room was empty.

But the voices had definitely disappeared here.

As a historic dwelling of the Dwight family, Brandenburg had numerous hidden mechanisms and secret chambers refined over generations. Shivers was even more convinced that this washroom was a secret transit hub of the mansion.

It was a pity that Erica wasn’t here. Even generations of Dwight family heads probably couldn’t claim to know more about Brandenburg’s secrets than the steward. As the steward’s daughter, Erica had a deeper understanding of architecture than anyone in the Knights Order. Compared to a real castle, the mechanisms of this mansion wouldn’t be too complicated, but they lacked the time for a detailed exploration.

Yitzfa disliked the damp and gloomy environment and wasn’t keen on using his brain in areas that didn’t interest him. However, he felt it inappropriate to let his companion do all the meticulous searching of taps and brick joints alone, so he too wandered around somewhat aimlessly—initially just to show an “I’m also trying” attitude, but he did end up noticing some interesting things.

“Those rows of rooms in the corridor have door locks, right?” he suddenly asked quietly.

Shivers, who was closely examining a row of gargoyles on the wall, wasn’t paying attention to what Yitzfa was saying. “Hm?”

He turned around to see Yitzfa lightly examining the row of compartments along the wall, each fitted with a flap door. They had briefly checked them earlier. Aside from toilets, there was nothing else inside. But with Yitzfa’s comment, Shivers noticed something unusual.

From the main door to the compartments inside, none of the doors were fitted with locks.

Yitzfa stood straight, exhaled, and met Shivers’s slightly puzzled gaze, saying softly, “This is to ward off witches.”

He knew Shivers came from a good background and might not know much about this, so he explained gently, “It’s a rural superstition, usually not practiced by respectable noble families—people believe that witches smear themselves with oils at night to slip through keyholes and window cracks to perform harmful magic, and common thief deterrents are ineffective against them.”

“Not installing locks has two implications… One possibility is that they might be on friendly terms with a witch as a gesture of goodwill. The other is to prevent witches from entering, not fitting doors with locks or windows but instead applying holy water or placing sacred objects on windowsills and thresholds.”

Shivers frowned slightly. “That’s not quite the witches I’ve heard about.”

Real witches probably wouldn’t rely on oily methods to slip through keyholes. Not to mention the likes of Elena from the legends, even the witch in Mistress Daisy’s castle, who used powerful spatial magic—door locks were redundant to her, let alone doors themselves.

“So it’s a rural tale. Many ordinary girls have been accused of being witches based on various absurd theories. This has nothing to do with the genuine witches who wield magic.” Yitzfa mused for a moment. “Lestrop, coming from a royal lineage, wouldn’t likely believe in such rumors. If this setup is meant as a tribute, the research origin in the manor is probably related to witches, and the mechanism for the secret room’s entrance might also be connected. There are many totems associated with witches—cats, crows, rats could all be possibilities, but there’s too little decor here to suggest anything specific.”

As he finished speaking, both their gazes coincidentally focused on the only decorative piece in the room: the stained glass window.

Shivers pondered.

Totems…

He hadn’t mentioned to Yitzfa about Mistress Daisy’s castle. If this washroom was indeed related to the enwalled witch—

Yitzfa watched as Shivers approached the window, adjusting a piece of colored glass. It was indeed movable. He quickly shifted the pieces, focusing on the relatively sparse blue glass, slowly forming the shape of a book.

Once the last piece was in place, they held their breath, but the expected mechanism noise didn’t occur.

Yitzfa was disappointed. “Not this one?”

“No.” Shivers quickly turned him around to face the other way, letting him see the back of the door, where a dark, arched hole had appeared in the stone wall at some point.

“There are too many,” a slightly hoarse voice said. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“That’s the Master’s will,” another voice, younger but more stern, interrupted.

“Alright, just in case,” the last man said peaceably. “Just count. The Master will win.”

“Right, those tired cavalry won’t expect we’ve buried so many iron thorns ahead… Just wait.”

“What about the little ones from the other day?”

“They were sent to Elwick, but they’re too young. Not sure if they’ll survive.”

After a brief silence, several men walked into a very small room, so cramped that several adults could hardly stand. The man in front led with a large ring of keys, unlocking a door. Light immediately poured out, illuminating their surroundings, which looked like a small foyer with a round hand-woven rug on the floor.

Compared to the dark, narrow corridor, the room beyond was like another world—several lamps were on. In front of smooth, wooden paneled walls stood tall bookshelves, not filled with books but various shaped glass jars and delicate tools for refining herbs and spices. An elegant wooden table held a small writing desk, a color-coordinated shell chair was draped with a blanket, several polished floor candle holders stood in the corner, and a lute leaned against the wall.

Anyone seeing this room for the first time would think it belonged to a city clerk or a college professor—someone with long hair, spectacles on the nose, and a precise way of speaking.

But the tall man standing by the table wasn’t of that sort. Upon seeing him in the room, several men were so shocked that they dared not utter a word.

“Ma-Master.” The leader, with brown hair, bravely saluted him. “Mr. Foley has ordered us to come down to count and pack the medicine bottles.”

He bowed his body, not knowing why he dared not speak the latter part of his sentence, as if once spoken, it would curse the other party to surely fail and then pack up and flee.

It was rather inauspicious.

The man’s hawk-like gaze swept over them, and he responded with a very indifferent “hmm”.

The men felt as if they had been pardoned and didn’t dare to lift their heads as they maintained their bow and moved to a compartment by the bookshelves.

No matter how many times he saw it, the sight of these servants cowering always displeased Lestrop.

As the Earl of Mokwen, whether guards or attendants, everyone in his residence in the south was strictly disciplined and highly qualified—a stark contrast to the servants in this remote mountain manor.

This wasn’t only because he had to act low-key here, unable to openly develop his manpower, but also because this estate was left to him by his mother, and her family line had long since declined.

If it weren’t for its proximity to Ropappas City—close enough to that castle—he wouldn’t have chosen to focus his research here, far from his fief and too close to the royal capital.

Thinking of the royal capital, Lestrop’s face grew even more somber.

He and Tifa had long infiltrated each other with spies, but based on his understanding of his brother’s character, this conflict shouldn’t have come so soon, and the timing now was particularly inconvenient, adding to his irritation.

Tifa had always been snooping around here. He was likely startled by the appearance of the Lantern Bearers during winter, making him believe that the Holy Grail had indeed been successfully conceived here, prompting him to finally make his move.

Lestrop knew that Tifa had planned to use his birthday, when all the nobles gathered in the capital, to confront him, possibly imprison or even kill him, so he preemptively eliminated two of his most favored women, causing chaos. Unfortunately, Christine was accidentally involved, leading to a series of unplanned incidents that revealed the King’s murderous intent, yet here in the manor, he encountered another bottleneck…

He sat in the shell chair, his fatigue from traveling all night not hindering his thoughts. His fingers rhythmically tapped on the armrest.

He knew what Tifa was afraid of.

Indeed, not just Tifa, even he himself had thought they were close to success. As far as he knew, it had been over twenty years since the last appearance of the Lantern Bearers. These ghost-like immortals could bypass marshes and dense forests, ignoring spatial barriers in pursuit of the Holy Grail, but who could have expected this to be a false alarm?!

Though the Lantern Bearers eventually vanished, and the child didn’t survive, Lestrop firmly believed he had found the right direction to modify that mad woman’s potion, and no longer thought it necessary to rely on the former witch, who had lost her self-awareness.

As an Earl, he wasn’t interested in the little tricks played by the mad woman’s maid who took over the estate. The Southern Lord didn’t need a partially real, partially fantastical castle, and those seemingly delicate but actually illusion-corrupted girls didn’t meet his criteria, so he consciously ignored that research origin—but when he received reports of the castle’s collapse, he still felt somewhat uneasy.

He looked up at the materials and equipment on the bookshelf. All were moved untouched from that mad woman’s castle. The out-of-control spatial magic didn’t affect non-living materials. He was sure he had fully taken over the witch’s research on the Holy Grail and pushed it forward significantly, but it was still too slow.

He couldn’t wait, nor could Tifa, so the King finally, without any justification, sent troops to attack the manor, aiming to seize what he imagined was the key to controlling the world.

Absolutely ridiculous!

Even if the Holy Grail truly manifested, the weakling that Tifa was would only tremble under the iron hoofs of the Empire. He was unfit to wear the crown, let alone be the master of the world.

Lestrop was fully prepared, but Foley was a timid and cautious man, trembling as he managed the manor for so many years. Seeing the war about to start, he immediately thought of transferring the real treasures in the estate, which was understandable…

Lestrop disregarded the servants and came down alone to check on his valuables. Since Foley had already arranged manpower, it was time for him to go to the front lines.

Lestrop stood up and walked to the door. Suddenly, at the turn of the stone staircase behind the hall, there seemed to be a flicker of light, so fast it seemed like an illusion.

He stopped, turned back to look at the potion room where several male servants were, and squinted his eyes.

Although he had collaborated with a witch, he didn’t believe in magic, nor had he ever relied on the power of a mage to set up any surveillance or alarm systems in the estate, because he believed that keen perception and strong physical strength were more effective in helping him control the situation.

Like now, hadn’t he just noticed the rat that was carelessly let in by a negligent servant?

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