Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 194

Arnie was a child with a bit of a cleanliness obsession. Apart from his family, he rarely allowed others to get close to him because he could sense all sorts of smells and breaths on people—the smell of laundry that hadn’t been fully dried, the residual scent of anise cookies eaten in the morning, and even the smell of sweat after activity and breath during speech, all of which made him uncomfortable.

Others weren’t as sensitive as he was. They either said, “I don’t smell anything special, Arnie,” or “Add a little more perfume. This is the latest from the capital”—Arnie wasn’t old enough to appreciate perfume and only felt that the artificial scents made him sneeze.

So, when Oscar first lifted him onto the chair, Arnie stiffened for a moment and then discreetly sniffed. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. Oscar didn’t seem to be the type who sweated easily. Even up close, there was no smell of skin oils.

Slightly more relaxed, Arnie watched curiously as Oscar tied his bow tie. The man’s appearance was quite ordinary, but his fingers were beautifully shaped, and the way the fabric moved between them was like playing a string instrument.

“All done.” Charlie gave the small bow tie a final adjustment, then sat on the bed, tilting his head to look at Arnie. “Young Master Arnie, did you come to see me for something?”

Arnie glanced at the tent entrance. It was empty and quiet outside.

“Elaby said you tell stories.” Arnie leaned his hands on his knees and looked at him. “Where do your stories come from?”

“They come from time,” Charlie said. “For instance, the story I told you last night is my real experience.”

Arnie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but Charlie didn’t let him remain awkward for long. He began the story again, recounting the adventure in the lush forest. Gino was a very spirited young dragon, full of energy and constantly talking.

Whether the mage was as bad as described was debatable, but his magical power was real. Gino became more and more animated, even describing how the mage used feathered birds as dusters for his books—a form of mistreatment. While passing an old fir tree, the trunk shook strangely, and countless colorful caterpillars fell from the canopy, all landing on the little dragon Gino.

Arnie shuddered at the thought. He hated soft-bodied creatures without spines, and…

“The stings of caterpillars are very painful. Especially the brightly colored ones, which can cause sleepless nights,” Charlie said. “But strangely, although I was close to Gino, not a single caterpillar landed on me. I guessed the mage had heard Gino’s complaints and was punishing him.”

“The dragon might have been lying,” Arnie said fairly. “If the caterpillars didn’t approach you, it means the mage was quite reasonable.”

“I thought so too,” Charlie said with a smile. “Gino has a big mouth but a good heart. After I spent an hour helping him remove all the caterpillars, he did lead me out of the forest.”

“Where is that forest?” Arnie asked.

“That’s the strange part—I tried to find it again later but couldn’t. The area was sparsely populated, and finding a guide was difficult. I couldn’t stay there long and had to leave disappointed.”

Arnie said seriously, “My history teacher says dragons abandoned the continent three hundred years ago and migrated overseas, becoming legendary creatures. If you saw a real dragon, you could—”

He thought for a moment, seeming to flip through a book in his mind. “You could apply to the Empire for an expedition. If confirmed, discovering such a valuable creature could earn you a cultural medal or even a title.”

Charlie struggled to suppress a laugh because Arnie’s demeanor was too formal. It was amusing to hear a child speak seriously about “expeditions” and “titles”. The contrast was delightful.

Even more amusing was knowing that thirteen years later, Arnie would still have this tone, though more mature and confident, with a more imposing presence. The posture would seem fitting for Duke Dwight in the future, but not just yet.

“I’m just a novelist. I don’t need a title,” Charlie said. “You see, neither wealth nor land would let me see dragons, legendary trees, and rare beasts, or experience thrilling, deadly adventures.”

That made sense. Arnie was stunned, leaning forward a bit.

“What are rare beasts?” he asked. Arnie wasn’t an inexperienced child. Though young, his father, Duke Dwight, wasn’t one to keep his children sheltered in a castle. Arnie had already been to the capital, the eastern port cities, and the large border city built in the canyon that bordered the Doran continent.

But those bustling cities had everything except forests and dragons.

“What are rare beasts?” Arnie repeated.

“Well…” Charlie began, but then someone lifted the tent flap—it was Elaby.

Arnie turned and saw Elaby, remembering he had sneaked out. He felt uneasy.

Hiding his whereabouts was irresponsible—Duke Dwight had taught Arnie that his actions, as the son of an Imperial Duke, could affect many lives.

He wasn’t clear on the responsibilities of being the Duke’s eldest son, but he knew he had done something wrong. Elaby was usually gentle, but when the old steward wasn’t around, Elaby, as his assistant, represented the steward’s authority and could be strict.

“Young Master.” Elaby called to him without a smile, and Arnie slid off the chair and walked toward him.

Elaby looked down at him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Arnie pouted but nodded.

“Miss Priscilla is waiting for you.” When the parents were away, the sister took on the teaching responsibility.

Charlie stood up as well. Arnie was too short and kept his head down, so he couldn’t see Elaby’s expression—although his tone was cold, his expression was calm. There was no sign of panic about the Young Master’s disappearance. With knights guarding the camp, Charlie didn’t believe no one saw Arnie enter his tent.

To him, it seemed Elaby had only come because it was lunchtime and had always known where Arnie was.

Unfortunately, young Arnie didn’t understand this subtlety. Knowing he was in the wrong, he didn’t resist much as Elaby led him away. Charlie watched the small figure with the beautiful light blond hair that now looked rather downcast and felt a bit sorry for him.

But he knew that in a few years, the current Duke and Duchess Dwight would both die in an accident. Arnie had a lot to learn to become a Dwight, but there wasn’t much time.

Knowing that Dwight’s upbringing was more arduous than joyful was one thing; witnessing it firsthand was another. Although Charlie liked Dwight, he often found him very reserved and self-satisfied, always demanding too much of others. Seeing young Arnie now, Charlie felt it wasn’t easy for him to grow up safely.

……

“I won’t do anything to Oscar,” Elaby said, noticing how Arnie kept looking back. He thought Oscar seemed like the Pied Piper from fairy tales, as if he had a natural magic that made children easily like him.

“You are the Duke’s son. Oscar cannot refuse your request, and it’s not like he encouraged you to sneak away… Did he?”

Arnie shook his head.

Elaby genuinely cared for him. Asking Priscilla to educate and punish him was merely symbolic—only requiring Arnie to copy a few ancient poems after dinner. Everyone at Brandenburg knew that the siblings were out to relax because they missed their parents, and they all wanted to make them as happy as possible.

Perhaps because the punishment was so mild, Arnie’s mood quickly improved. He sat next to Priscilla on a bench, telling his sister the stories he had heard from Oscar.

Priscilla also found it interesting. “Is he a novelist or a storyteller? Elaby said he gathered half the town’s children to listen to his stories. Could it be that his books don’t sell well, and he makes a living by telling stories?”

“He said he’s only published one book called “Grapevine”, which tells the life story of a weaver living under a grapevine. But the weaver has a very short lifespan, so the book is very thin.”

Priscilla blinked, feeling that this book sounded quite unreliable.

But Arnie seemed very happy, which was rare.

It wasn’t that her little brother lacked emotions and couldn’t be happy, but the things that usually made Arnie happy were rarely “people”. He would get excited over particularly intricate toys or very rare animals, but he rarely found the same joy in interacting with people. The Duchess had once confided in her daughter, worrying that Arnie’s overly aloof nature might lead him astray—the so-called wrong path being serving God personally and living in a church for life.

It was rare for him to be interested in someone, even if it was just a brief enthusiasm. It was remarkable progress.

Priscilla said, “He said he has traveled to many places on the continent, so he must have many more stories. But we have to return tomorrow. What should we do then?”

With their parents absent, they couldn’t stay outside the castle for too long. It wasn’t safe.

Arnie understood this too, so he held Priscilla’s hand and insisted, “I want to bring him back to the castle to tell stories every day.”

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