Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 95

Yitzfa had never run so hard in his life. The wind rushing into his nostrils and lungs made him painfully breathless, but Shivers tightly gripped his wrist and dragged him along at a breakneck pace. The downhill path only added to their momentum, making it unbearable. Every second, Yitzfa felt he would collapse.

But he couldn’t stop.

The noise behind them made it clear that someone from the mansion was in pursuit. He couldn’t even afford to look back to check if the sound of arrows piercing the air was mingling with the wind, nor could he contemplate the possibility of dying right there—all he could do was run!

Despite his pampered upbringing, Yitzfa’s stamina was surprisingly better than he or Shivers had anticipated. Shivers’ weeks of scouting at night proved crucial as they bypassed the farmsteads. Though it was a longer route, the darkness helped them successfully make it to the woods that had begun sprouting new shoots. However, the light from the torches behind them pursued them relentlessly. Whether by Lestrop’s will or not, it seemed the mansion’s people were determined not to let these audacious men escape this night.

Yitzfa’s throat was too dry to speak. He wanted to yell for a stop, to say he could run no more, but Shivers never looked back, his silhouette harsh and severe in the moonlight.

But that severe demeanor didn’t last long. Shivers kindly slowed down, and when he finally turned around, Yitzfa’s ghostly pale face gave him a startle.

The man who had been dressed up with lace and silk like a porcelain doll by the ladies of the town just days ago now looked utterly disheveled, gasping like a dying fish.

Shivers knew he wasn’t used to running like this, but…

“We can’t stop yet,” he said, helping Yitzfa catch his breath. “We haven’t shaken off our pursuers, and we are still in Lestrop’s territory.”

Yitzfa pushed him away, bending over and supporting himself on his knees. His whole body was trembling.

“But we don’t need to keep running ourselves.” Shivers’s tone returned to its usual gentleness, soothingly pulling him along. “We’ll ride horses.”

Where are the horses?

Yitzfa refused to move, too dry in the mouth and throat to speak, just staring reproachfully with wide eyes.

“It’s just ahead, not far,” Shivers coaxed. “We really can’t stop. Those with torches are just a small group. We ran into the woods, so they’re probably using hunting dogs. We made it to the river, and they’ll have horsemen. Only by mounting a horse and leaving this area—away from the manor and the city—are we truly safe.”

Realizing Yitzfa could run no further, Shivers simply slung his arm over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him along, still managing a decent pace. He hadn’t lied. After less than ten minutes of moving, they emerged from the woods to a small hill where a chestnut horse was quietly tethered to an apple tree. The area was silent, with no one else in sight.

Yitzfa thought he heard Shivers chuckle, but before he could listen closely, he was hoisted onto the horse. Despite the long, chaotic escape, Shivers looked hardly fatigued as he shook the reins and turned the horse into the deep night.

“You look so smug because you taught that guy a lesson, huh?” The Duke sat in a handwoven rattan chair, watching workers and servants on the dock busy like ants. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stood by his side, leaning against the ship’s railing as he smoked.

Unlike the old smoker, who was engulfed in smoke, his smoking posture was elegant. Occasionally, he would exhale a cloud of smoke. The overly round shape of the smoke rings playfully revealed his good mood.

“You have to admit, Eugene did well.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper turned away from the railing. One hand rested on it as he glanced at the Duke. “Was it when you were beating him up outside the green forest mine that you discovered his knack for tactics, and decided to send him to support Shivers?”

Dwight ignored the jest, slowly folding the letter in his hand.

Though unspoken, he agreed that Eugene had indeed performed exceptionally well this time.

Initially, the illiterate, petty thief seemed to have no talents beyond perceptiveness and was barely useful as a footman. But as they delved deeper into Doran, his adaptability, linguistic talent, and ability to judge situations sharply became increasingly apparent.

Besides his innate talent, his humble origins and years of living at the bottom had also shaped him; even Rabbit Head said he didn’t know Eugene could use his parting gift so effectively.

In their only brief meeting in the city, knowing roughly of Shivers’ plan, Eugene gave the knight all the useful gadgets he thought necessary: a detachable crossbow, smoke bombs for escape, and paralyzing potions. These proved quite effective afterwards.

But more valuable than such analysis and response was the rapport he built with others during the journey. According to Shivers’ description, they had only agreed beforehand that Eugene would prepare an escape boat and that they would meet at a secret location by the river outside the city after the moonrise to flee together.

Without knowing that Yitzfa would also join this action, Eugene had set up a double safety for Shivers—the chestnut horse.

They had never discussed it, neither the horse nor the place it was tethered, but peculiarly, without much chance to communicate, Eugene had accurately judged that Shivers might need that horse, and Shivers, for no apparent reason, felt Eugene would prepare the horse, even down to the apple tree where it was tied.

And it was indeed that horse that enabled Shivers to promptly take an utterly exhausted Yitzfa away from the pursuers, reaching the river where the three successfully met and continued downstream. If all went well, by the time the Duke received the report, they would be nearing the border of the Mokwen Kingdom, about to take the route through Lababata to meet up with them.

In the report that arrived ahead of them, Shivers also mentioned a detail: On the boat, the three had a deep conversation. Yitzfa said that due to limited time, after Lestrop and others were led away by Shivers, he had only managed to briefly look through each room. There were indeed valuable items in the round study, including early records of the manor’s dealings with a witch apothecarist and some letters, but parts involving potion formulas had been deliberately destroyed, and it was unclear if there were more secure hidden chambers deeper within the manor.

Yitzfa hadn’t handed this information to Shivers but intended to take it back to the Fox family for further study, though he agreed to let Shivers transcribe a copy to take with him.

This member of the Fox family was bolder than anyone had anticipated. He had indeed set a fire in those rooms. The content of his shouts as he rolled and scrambled past was no lie, but at the time, no one knew he was playing a double game.

And this action further confirmed the previous suspicions about the Fox family—that even within the Black Gold Families, their stance on the Holy Grail was probably not unified. Otherwise, Yitzfa’s primary goal should have been to gather as much information as possible, not to spend precious reconnaissance time starting a fire.

Just based on this, Shivers believed that Yitzfa himself wasn’t in favor of the Holy Grail’s advent. As for the reasons, perhaps Yitzfa also felt the Holy Grail was a sacrilege, unfit for the world; perhaps the Fox family’s lineage couldn’t produce the Holy Grail, and for competitive balance, they didn’t want other families to successfully obtain the Holy Grail; or perhaps both reasons applied.

“The witch apothecarist…” Dwight repeated softly, his fingers pressing the edge of the paper, smoothing out a sharp corner. Gradually, he shaped a tiny paper turtle in his hand.

From the decorations deep within the manor and the information they had brought out, Lestrop and the Tifa group’s methods to replicate the Holy Grail were nothing but potion formulas obtained from mages, regardless of whatever foundational theories they believed in.

Charlie understood why he was focusing on this word.

Magical potions differed from ordinary potions not only in ingredients and price but also in characteristics.

Potions with magical properties couldn’t hide this fact. They might taste unusual or have strange colors. High-grade magical potions also had various attention-grabbing appearances—they might change color, sparkle, or even make sounds, making it very difficult to surreptitiously induce someone to ingest them.

So, to find out whether Lestrop had also experimented on himself, one simply needed to confirm with Priscilla herself whether she had ingested any magical potions before becoming pregnant to make an initial judgment.

“Priscilla has been suspicious and cautious of the Earl for a long time. I believe she wouldn’t have willingly ingested any concoctions given by her husband, so it’s very likely that the child isn’t affected.”

“Better this way,” Dwight said with distaste. “Tifa had better pull himself together, or else I’ll have to go settle the account myself.”

“Ah, about that.” Charlie blinked as if he seemed to remember something. “I think the King will likely be successful because the Earl got injured.”

Dwight turned to look at him.

Charlie pulled out a dip pen from his jacket pocket. Since his other hand was holding a pipe, he could only draw a simple magical array on the paper turtle resting in Dwight’s palm with one hand. He mischievously added two peppercorn-sized eyes, then put away the pen, picked up the paper turtle, and threw it over the ship’s railing. The two watched as it seemed to come to life upon hitting the water, wriggling its body before quickly diving beneath the surface and disappearing.

This was the “Deep Sea Courier”, a magic spell improvised by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. It was a variant of the “Gray Sentinel”, specialized in diving. It tirelessly swam towards the deepest part of the water until the paper dissolved. If touched by a creature (like being swallowed by a big fish), it will dissolve quickly without a trace.

In other words, it was pretty much only useful for disposing of evidence.

After finishing this, Charlie finally said in a relaxed tone, “Shivers scratched Lestrop, and he’s sure he drew blood. The dagger he used was given by Shiloh to Eugene when he was leaving, and we did a bit of work on it—processed it if you will.”

“Poison?” Dwight straightened up a bit with interest.

Charlie waved his hand. “Poison isn’t so easy to concoct. The potent ones mostly require venomous creatures for processing, and the cost is too high. I can’t afford it.”

Perhaps it was the Duke’s scornful gaze burning into him that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper quickly added, “Besides, using poison isn’t a good idea for nobles, especially royals, who have been trained from a young age to build up a tolerance to toxins, right?”

That was indeed true. The Duke, having undergone such training until adulthood, grudgingly accepted his face-saving comment. “So what did you do?”

“I also applied a bit of medicine to the blade, similar to the paralyzing potion on the crossbows, but with improved effects.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a person with broad ideas, never satisfied with a single research result.

Just like the Gray Sentinel, whether it was magic or potions, he liked to continually modify and create a series, and the paralyzing potion was no different.

The potion applied to the crossbow took effect instantly and lasted for 3-5 hours, leaving no harm to the body after recovery.

The potion on the dagger, however, was modified from this base. The paralysis didn’t take effect immediately but randomly—activating at some point within 6 hours, automatically recovering, and then becoming effective again.

Compared to the straightforward immediate paralysis, the latter was more cunning: When it took effect and then automatically recovered, it would give the impression of the body’s toxin resistance purifying itself, and then the victim would be unguarded against a subsequent paralysis.

More importantly, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper insisted on making only potions, not poisons. Hence, the paralyzing potion didn’t actually harm the body and was immune to various antidotes. Those affected could only endure it, unable to cure it.

After explaining his pharmaceutical philosophy, the Duke looked at him, and he at the Duke.

“Lestrop is going back because Tifa’s army is surrounding the manor,” Dwight said. “He might rest and command from the rear after the ambush, but once he feels recovered, he’ll definitely go to the front line.”

The reason was none other than his opponent, Tifa.

Years of resentment and non-acceptance would make it unbearable for Lestrop not to personally defeat Tifa’s army, unless he was caught off-guard from behind a second time, in which case he would definitely join the battlefield.

And in battle, where swords had no eyes and situations changed in an instant, a moment’s distraction could be fatal, not to mention sudden full-body stiffness?

Dwight suddenly felt very pleased, standing up from the rattan chair.

He always thought the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s research was more playful than practical, but this time it played a serious and very satisfying role.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched as the Duke approached him—raising his hand holding the pipe, he then bowed his head and took a puff.

He actually smokes?

Charlie thought somewhat dazedly, then watched as the other man turned and blew a smoke ring at him, shaped just as round as the one he had made not long before.

The smoke ring didn’t come at his cheek with frivolity like a libertine but wavered towards his ears. It was as if it had touched the hair of his ear but also as if it hadn’t, then it dissipated into the air.

“Well done,” Dwight said to him.

---

The author has something to say:

Dwight: That “Gray Sentinel” of yours…

Charlie: Impressive, right? Stealthy as a ghost.

Dwight: The idea of using biomimicry is interesting, but there’s room for improvement. Can’t you fold an eagle or a cheetah instead?

Charlie: Ah, what’s fun in all that fighting and killing? My greatest wish is for world peace! Don’t you like birds? Then I’ll teach you something else. How about a little turtle or a mouse?

Dwight: ……

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>