Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 201

Arnie reached out and pushed the lid, but it was tightly secured and didn’t move at all.

The green-eyed ones no longer drugged them, but they separated Charlie and Arnie during “transport”. From the current sensation of weightlessness and swaying, Arnie felt like he was placed in a big basket carried by a giant bird—though the windproof cloth was too sturdy for him to hear any wind.

He had no choice but to sit cross-legged in boredom on several woven grass mats, with a few handfuls of brightly colored fruits and a wooden water jug by his feet. Perhaps because he was still a child, the jug had a crooked little dog painted on it.

However, it was pitch black all around, and Arnie couldn’t see anything.

This boring journey lasted for a long, long time. By the time the lid above his head was lifted, the small boy had curled up and fallen asleep.

“You…” A voice gasped, then lowered it as if afraid of waking the child. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

Atta—the one who had carried Arnie away in the maple forest—stood there with an expression like a dead pig, unafraid of boiling water, arms crossed, and mouth curved upward.

“This is ‘Dwight’s son,” he said. “He has a very high status in the Empire, lives in a luxurious house, and has many servants. His father will definitely take responsibility.”

“You’ll end up in solitary confinement!” One of the perimeter guards, knowing these young troublemakers were fearless and clueless about the mess they had caused, itched to punch Atta’s righteous face.

“‘Dwight’s’ son? Are you sure? He looks more like one of our people.” Another guard on duty leaned in to observe for a while, trying to reach into the wicker basket to pick up the child. But the change in light made the child move restlessly, so the guard retracted his hand and instead picked up the basket with the child inside.

He tilted his head towards Atta. “What about that one?”

Behind the troublemaking youths was a giant bird with gray-black feathers, as large as an elephant, with a ring of red feathers under its eyes. There was a large box strapped to its back, yet to be unloaded.

“A servant,” Atta said. “Noble children are delicate. I’m afraid we can’t take care of them properly.”

The guard almost laughed in exasperation, but seeing things had come to this, they could only ask, “You weren’t followed, right?”

Atta said, “We kept on the move. No horses could catch up with the sacred bird’s speed.”

“You dare say that? You kids have no right to use it—wait for Uncle Kang’s wrath. The last person who stole a bird couldn’t get out of bed after he was done.” The guard instructed them to unload the box while he turned with the wicker basket, walking over thick fallen leaves.

This was a bright pine forest, with conical tree crowns reaching high into the sky. The upper leaves glittered in the sunlight, but the lower it got, the darker it became. The air was very humid, with bright green moss everywhere.

The guard saw the child in the basket shrink, so he fully closed the lid.

“You shouldn’t have…” he mumbled something, but knowing Atta and the others were just noisy brats with no experience in taking care of children, he quickened his pace, realizing they hadn’t prepared any warm clothes for the child despite moving from a warm plain to a cold forest.

Charlie could feel himself being moved as the center of gravity of the box he was in shifted significantly, causing him to fall against the wall of the box—what were they doing? Hanging him in the air?

But the sensation of weightlessness didn’t last long. The box was heavily set down. Charlie squinted as the sudden light made his eyes water.

“Oscar.” Arnie clung to the edge of the box, but as he wasn’t tall enough, Charlie could only see his fingers and the top of his head.

The inside of the box was lined with fabric that blocked light and sound. When it was opened, Charlie regained his sight and hearing.

A tall man stood beside him, watching Charlie crawl out of the box.

Arnie watched eagerly from the side, and Charlie resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, instead bending down to pick him up—Arnie immediately wrapped his arms around Charlie’s neck.

If Priscilla and Alfred were here, they’d be shocked, as Arnie rarely showed such dependence on anyone except when he was sick and wanted his mother to hold him.

Charlie understood the reason. No matter how mature Arnie’s personality was, he was still an inexperienced child, suddenly taken from home and placed in a strange environment. Naturally, anyone would instinctively rely on the only familiar person.

“It’s okay,” he whispered in Arnie’s ear. “I’m here too. It’s okay.”

Arnie didn’t respond, his big eyes looking at the box where Oscar had been, now devoid of water and food.

“Dinner will be brought shortly,” a man who had been silently standing in the corner finally spoke. He had long, smooth brown hair braided into a long plait behind him. His features were somewhat androgynous, and his green eyes were smiling.

He looked at Arnie with evident fondness but didn’t press him when Arnie clung to Charlie without speaking. He nodded to them.

“The forest is dangerous. Please don’t wander around.” He pointed to a pull cord by the window, attached to a string of dried gourd shells as bells. “You can use it to summon me sometimes. My name is Wind.”

After saying this, he stepped forward, resealed the box Charlie had been in, and lifted it with one hand.

“Please rest well,” he said at the door, then suddenly vanished.

Charlie: “???”

He carried Arnie to the door, about to look out, but was startled by the half-suspended threshold and quickly pulled Arnie, who had leaned out too far, back inside.

Underfoot was an almost vertical giant tree trunk, with small platforms made from old vines and branches arranged at irregular intervals—not really steps, but tiny platforms that seemed usable only by squirrels.

Wind appeared to have jumped straight down?

Charlie closed the door and walked to the window, where a dense green view greeted him. This small house was built high in a large tree, and he couldn’t tell how far it was from the ground. Wind’s earlier remark, “Please don’t wander around,” seemed like a mere courtesy. Anyone placed here would be immobile unless they suddenly grew wings to fly away.

Remembering Wind’s delicate demeanor and how he had effortlessly lifted the large box with one hand, Charlie thought of something and looked down to ask Arnie, “Just now, there was only Wind in the room. How did I get up here? Did he carry me up such a high tree by himself?”

Arnie shook his head and kicked his legs, signaling for Charlie to put him down.

“It was us,” Arnie said. “He carried you and jumped up with me.”

That must have been quite thrilling. True to his name, Wind seemed barely affected by gravity, managing to leap to the top of the tree using the smallest of vine branches even while carrying weight, without even breaking a sweat.

“It looks like this is their prison. It’s much better than the castle dungeon,” Charlie said, grabbing a small bowl of raspberries from the table. “There are tables, chairs, and a bed, and the blankets are even laid out.”

Although the wooden walls were undecorated and the floor and furniture were simply assembled from raw wood, giving a somewhat crude appearance, the light scent of wood permeating the house made up for it.

Arnie pouted, “No carpets, the furniture isn’t varnished, and there are no decorations at all.”

There was an ugly straw doll on the bed that Arnie clearly disliked, avoiding looking at that area.

So this penchant for fussiness was innate, Charlie thought.

“They live in the forest, have green eyes, great strength, and are agile,” Arnie said, puzzled. “Just like the elves in books.”

“They’re not elves,” Charlie told him. “Maybe their ancestors had elven blood, and their physique has been optimized over generations, but they’re still human.”

“Books can easily fall into stereotypes when describing non-human races and aren’t entirely reliable.” He put Arnie on a chair and gave him a handful of raspberries.

“Elves have great craftsmanship and magical talents, and they emphasize pleasure. Their homes are more refined and comfortable than ordinary royal palaces. Although Wind and the others are unusual, if this were an elven territory, they wouldn’t allow such a purely functional wooden house to exist.”

“So you also think this house is ugly.”

“I didn’t say it’s ugly. I said its focus is on practicality, not aesthetics.”

“That’s a polite way of saying the house is ugly. I learned that in etiquette class.”

Charlie scooped him up, tucking Arnie under his arm. “My point is, even using these characteristics, they are different from true elves.”

“The book says…”

“The book also says there’s a fairy in every coin. Do you believe that?”

“No book says that—”

“Not grammar textbooks, of course. Only novels and travelogs do.”

“What’s a novel?” Arnie asked.

“Doesn’t Brandenburg have more than one large library, yet you’ve never read a novel?”

“I only have textbooks.”

Charlie sympathetically patted Arnie’s cheek. “Probably to make you study seriously. A novel is a story. If I tell you enough stories, I could write them into a novel.”

“When will it be finished?” Arnie asked. “Mrs. Cena definitely wouldn’t buy me any books other than textbooks.”

“Bookstores in town would have them. Have you ever been to a bookstore? Each bookstore has a warehouse full of books. The best-selling book, ‘The General’, always takes the prime spot on the first shelf, while less popular books are placed according to their rank. Every book’s goal is to be displayed in the center of the first shelf, so it catches the eye of every customer who walks in.”

Charlie’s knack for making up stories was unmatched. He told Arnie a tale of how the arrogant “General”, who used underhanded tactics to boost sales, was eventually overthrown by a coalition of lesser-selling books.

Arnie listened, unconsciously wriggling on the chair, silently calculating how many towns were closest to Brandenburg. He really wanted to see for himself if every bookstore had a copy of “The General”.

“You probably can’t go if your teacher is strict,” Charlie cautioned, worried Arnie might leave the castle to explore. “If you really want to see, ask a young person who doesn’t often stay in the castle to help.”

“If I don’t go, how will I know which book I want?” Arnie retorted.

“I’ll tell you,” Charlie said, happy to see Arnie’s attention shift from their current captivity. “I’ll tell you which books are interesting—have you heard the story of the Kingdom of Gold?”

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