Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 135

Before the first light of day, Charlie deftly leaped over a filthy ditch and quickly weaved through a narrow gap between two small wooden houses. A little gray sparrow flew ahead of him, maintaining a distance of about five steps, both navigating silently through the ghostly pre-dawn structures until a wide road stretched out before them.

The “Gray Sentinel” successfully completed its mission, spiraling back to hover above Charlie’s head before fluttering into his arms—turning into a neat paper sheet upon touching his chest.

Without pausing, Charlie folded the bird-shaped paper neatly and tucked it into his pocket. Although people lived near Paradise Island, amenities like streetlights or public carriages were utterly absent. Other than those homeless in the streets, no other living soul would appear at this hour. Charlie darted into an alleyway, swiftly removed his crumpled burlap overcoat, balled it up, and discarded it in a nearby trash heap.

Aquina, that old coot, although he had developed an awareness for acquiring henchmen and slaves (whom he calls “clergy”), remained a parvenu who unexpectedly inherited a distant relative’s fortune. Before he even had a chance to understand the wealth, he was lured into pursuing academia and plunged into White Bridge, going bankrupt within days and eventually settling on Paradise Island.

No matter how much he tried to play god or conjure tricks, his vision was limited. The robes he provided to these sudden “assistants” were no better than trash, handy enough for moving around inside but embarrassingly shabby once they left Paradise Island.

Emerging from the other end of the alley, Charlie now looked entirely like a young man who had risen too early. He wore a light cardigan and light brown trousers, his matching soft cap pulled low—all in subdued colors that Louis typically favored.

By the time he had crossed three streets, dawn was breaking, and Charlie’s back felt warm. He stopped, taking extra time to locate his destination among the dimly lit signs.

It was an old bookstore named Butter King. Its black iron sign was too dull compared to its flamboyant neighbors. The shop’s decor, green wall tiles paired with a deep purple door and window, did little to attract. Through the window, one could only see thick, uninviting books—not even properly bound.

With the street’s shops still closed and no doorbell in sight, the thin layer of dust on the door suggested it might well stay closed even after daylight. Peering inside, Charlie’s breath fogged up the glass, seeing nothing but darkness inside.

Seasonal sale decorations still clung to parts of the window, slightly peeled and faded. Touching the colorful paper letters, Charlie found a slim, flat key hidden within a shiny letter “U”.

“Such laziness,” he muttered, inserting the key into the lock, turning it until he heard a click, and the door swung open.

He slipped inside, closing the door behind him—ignoring the wall lamp near the entrance and navigating in darkness. The store’s interior was as careless as its exterior. Charlie frequently kicked against various objects on the floor, cautiously making his way to the staircase without tripping.

The narrow wooden stairs behind the counter led to what looked like a loft storage area, cluttered with boxes. Pushing through a pathway he had made between the boxes, Charlie descended another staircase—this one with a handrail and less steep.

Quickening his pace, he jumped the last few steps, only to be unexpectedly steadied by someone in the dark, startling him—if he were still in his rabbit form, his fur would have bristled.

“What are you doing?” The Duke’s impatient voice made Charlie halt.

“Why not turn on the light?” Charlie patted his chest soothingly.

After a brief silence, a click sounded, and a small flame lit up, illuminating the Duke’s face.

“…Not the best angle.” Charlie was half-joking and half-serious. “Even an angel couldn’t look good in this light. Why didn’t you turn on the light?” he repeated.

The Duke remained silent.

After a moment, Charlie hesitantly asked, “Don’t you know how to light it?”

The rough action of the Duke pushing a lighter into his hand was answer enough.

It seemed he genuinely didn’t know how.

Charlie held back a laugh and tactfully chose not to continue. In fact, it was quite normal given the self-governance and unequal distribution of resources and technological development across the regions of the Doran continent, compared to the Modicon Empire. There, one could find a variety of lighting fixtures and their uses, ranging from luxurious magical items for illumination, to advanced controllable gas lamps and even the more primitive oil lamps and candles. Around Dwight, there were always servants, so no one would really expect the Duke to light the lamps himself.

Charlie, too, was unsure about the lighting in this shop. He hadn’t touched the wall lamp at the entrance. Inside was even darker than outside, and it took him a moment to find a large chandelier by the wall, its small mica panels offering sufficient light.

Once the interior was brightened, Charlie and Dwight surveyed the room—a mini-living room setup with a comfortable sofa and a walnut cabinet adorned with fine china.

Perhaps reassured by the clean environment, the Duke finally settled on the sofa.

“Louis said this place is well-stocked, ah.” Charlie explored further. “There’s a changing room here…”

Genes were truly amazing. Even if two people were separated before they matured, and their diets and exercise habits differed thereafter, upon reuniting after a long separation, their physiques could still be very similar. In Fortuna City, there had even been instances where the brothers were mistaken for each other. Charlie could bet that the coat and pants in this small dressing room would fit him perfectly.

“This shop isn’t in the city center. It’s closer to Paradise Island.” Despite coming here at night, Dwight could roughly gauge the location. “The industries in the city are controlled by two family cadres, and from a business perspective, it makes sense to be as close to the center as possible.”

“Correction, senior cadres control them,” Charlie said loudly while draping his linen shirt over the back of a chair. “Ordinary family members don’t have that privilege, like my grandfather, who only knows how to eat and sleep.”

Although White Bridge was prosperous, its area was limited. Like the Lions and Foxes, they had many branches spread out, considered fringe members of the family. The city where the twins grew up, Fortuna City, also fell into this category. If it weren’t for Fahim, Louis would only be able to enter White Bridge as a guest when he grew up. Not to mention, even the Elders rarely meet each other.

“So, did he set up the shop here to eventually have a place for his brother, who had nowhere to go?”

“That’s unlikely,” Charlie naturally said while picking a white taffeta shirt from a row of clothes. “He must have thought I’d rather die outside than hide here.”

Dwight paused.

Charlie’s relaxed attitude left Dwight momentarily speechless. Although he didn’t know Louis well, he felt Charlie probably misunderstood Louis—what did he mean by “rather die outside”?

However, Dwight didn’t plan to correct him. “Because he thinks Khalif is too dangerous?”

“Did Louis tell you? Yes, Khalif is becoming more extreme as he ages.” Charlie was distracted, struggling with a complicated cravat while talking to Dwight. “I originally wanted to persuade him to run away, but if Khalif continues to go crazy, he might publish the Holy Grail formula. Who knows how many more like Lestrop will be created. Although Fahim cleaned up well, some old members from back then are still alive. Digging into this is always a risk. Besides, the Wolf is now internally divided, worth stirring up. I was convinced by him.”

This odd statement made Dwight frown slightly.

“Explain in detail. What’s happening with Khalif?”

Charlie stopped what he was doing and poked his head out the door to ask, “You don’t object?”

Although he said it lightly, Khalif wasn’t just a wasp’s nest on a hillside that one could poke and run away from. If they really made a move, it would be a fight to the death.

“Why object?” Dwight countered. He had indeed been angry about this idea before, but at that time, Rabbit Head was still wandering on Paradise Island. With no target for his anger, the Duke calmed down and instinctively considered the best interests. He realized that killing Khalif was indeed the solution that could satisfy most parties (excluding Khalif himself).

Even he, Duke Dwight, could benefit from the Wolf Family being severely weakened or burying the Holy Grail legend. He still remembered the legendary World Dragon. If the continent of Doran truly fell, the next target could only be the Empire.

Earlier, the Emperor had responded to his report, showing that the Empire took this matter seriously.

“Because of Priscilla,” Charlie said. “After all, she’s at a critical stage… but I asked Louis to promise her safety to you.”

That promise meant nothing.

Dwight was increasingly convinced that Louis was two-faced in front of Charlie. The Duke judged that such a cunning person was unworthy of Priscilla, even as a lover. He wondered if Lestrop was dead and felt that, from the royal family down, Mokwen was full of fools. It might be better to find a more excellent match from Shivers…

Charlie didn’t notice Dwight’s mind wandering. He undid the cravat again and walked out of the dressing room. “Can you do this?”

Although he often wore formal attire, the collar of this shirt was somewhat peculiar, and none of his attempts to tie it looked right.

Dwight glanced at it and stood up, looking at it under the light.

“This is an old-fashioned style, rarely used now.” He reached out, and his cold fingertips brushed Charlie’s neck, making him shiver.

“Is it exclusive to nobility?” Charlie lowered his eyes, watching the Duke awkwardly wrap the silk cloth around his fingers.

“Sort of a borderline case. Wearing it now isn’t out of line,” Dwight said. “Because the tying method is special, many maids in castles probably wouldn’t know how to do it now.”

Actually, Dwight had never tied this type of cravat himself. He wore this style of shirt once as a child, and because the method was unique, the person dressing him casually mentioned it, sparking his interest. Now, recalling it from memory, he could remember the general idea, though the final product wasn’t as good as the servant’s from back then.

The room fell into a brief silence. Dwight focused on tying the cravat, while Charlie rubbed his nose. Both didn’t realize they were thinking the same thing.

What were they talking about just now?

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