Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 38

Eugene’s dark guess was entirely driven by his survival instinct.

Because he couldn’t swim. If he really got thrown into the water like a fish expelling its young, sinking was the only outcome he could think of.

Fortunately, the Darby Belly Fish didn’t take them on an impromptu gastrointestinal tour. After compressing them to their limits, like dried fish, it suddenly inflated them again and spat them out like bubbles.

But for Eugene, the situation didn’t improve, as the Darby Belly Fish chose to drop its passengers into the water, and it was a very turbulent river.

“Ahhhhhhhhh—ow ow ow ow!” Eugene frantically grabbed the nearest person, who roared back, “Calm down!”

Eugene grabbed Shivers’ beautiful blonde hair as if it were a rope. Shivers was desperate to check on the Duke and wished he could knock Eugene out to end the chaos. But in such circumstances, Eugene displayed remarkable potential, clinging tightly to Shivers, who could usually toss him aside with a punch, and began to drag him down too.

It was unclear why the Darby Belly Fish thought this was an ideal drop-off point. Just as Shivers was nearly drowned by Eugene’s panicked actions, Dwight was also caught off guard by the sudden rapid currents, but he was better off than Shivers, as the shopkeeper next to him wasn’t a panicking liability.

Charlie seemed to have been mentally prepared for the Darby Belly Fish’s lack of consideration. After a brief adjustment, he calmed down and tried to spot the direction of the riverbank in the water. After struggling to swim a few miles, the two barely managed to reach a gentler bay and eventually clambered onto the riverbank. The Duke of Brandenburg nearly rolled his eyes back in exhaustion.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, panting, dragged Dwight ashore and looked up at the night sky. The stars were cold and bright, telling him it was probably after midnight. There was silence in the nearby bushes, and not even the sound of insects could be heard.

“Columbus—and Shivers…” the shopkeeper coughed while fumbling in his soaked coat. “I didn’t manage to grab them in the water.”

“Shivers is a good swimmer,” the Duke said irritably. “The tin soldier can’t drown. That little wretch is the real danger. He grew up inland.”

Charlie suddenly laughed. “You’re worried about Eugene?”

Dwight said, “I’m worried he’ll drag Shivers down with him and drown.”

The shopkeeper shrugged and went back into the river.

“What’s wrong with you?” the Duke exclaimed, astonished, as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper head back into the water.

Charlie seemed to be searching for something in the water. A small halo of light gradually appeared in his hand, looking from behind like he was holding a mini lantern over the water surface, but apart from a sodden piece of wood, nothing else seemed to flow downstream.

Dwight’s cloak was waterproof, but the clothes inside were soaked through after being washed into the river. It was heavy and cold, hanging on his body. He was about to angrily tell the shopkeeper to stop wasting energy trying to fish people out of the river when a cool night breeze brushed past him with an unusual rustle.

The Duke, whose senses were quite sharp, perked up his ears immediately. “?!”

The forest at night was never quiet. By concentrating, one could hear the rustling of rodents foraging, the chirps of crickets, spinnerets, and unknown insects on the leaves, and even the sound of snakes slowly sliding over the grass. But among these subtle sounds, he seemed to hear a discordant scraping noise.

It sounded like the crisp sound of metal or wood colliding—the sound of human-made objects. As he tensed his body to listen again, the noise vanished.

The Duke turned his head, annoyed to find the rabbit-headed shopkeeper still looking around.

“Stop looking,” Dwight whispered.

Charlie was startled, and the light in his hand immediately went out.

Not completely beyond help.

Dwight’s anger slightly subsided, and he gestured to the shopkeeper, who was approaching him again.

Charlie turned his face to listen, his long ears twitching. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It seems I can’t rely on you.” Dwight scoffed. “What’s the use of having such big ears?”

“Ears or not, I’m still human,” the shopkeeper said patiently. To avoid alarming whatever or whoever was in the forest, they spoke in hushed tones, nearly pressing against each other. If someone had seen them under the moonlight and against the backdrop of the river sounds, they would look like lovers eloping in the night, whispering secrets.

Dwight also realized the atmosphere was a bit strange and slightly distanced himself. “Who would be in the forest in the middle of the night?”

Charlie was tempted to crack a joke, “Aren’t we the same?” but he sensed that the Duke was in a foul mood, and joking might lead to a prompt execution right there.

“There are only two kinds of people who like the moonlit night and the forest,” the shopkeeper said seriously as they quietly walked deeper into the forest. “Werewolves and witches. Which do you think it is?”

While this might sound somewhat casual, Dwight knew the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was serious.

In Pennigra, there were almost no wild werewolves left. This difficult-to-control race, prone to losing their sanity, had been semi-exiled since the last century. They were pushed by the allied forces deep into uninhabited areas of the plains, given territories with nominal self-rule but effectively isolated from other races. Charlie couldn’t judge whether this sweeping policy was correct, but it indeed prevented the scenario where physically weaker races became prey to werewolves, providing a relatively stable chip for Pennigra’s non-violent development.

But now they were on the Doran continent, where no powerful federal or national control existed. According to some continent-crossing rangers, some kingdoms on Doran even incorporated werewolves into their armies due to their physical strength and combat prowess, making them part of their competitive drive for imperial power. Whether exiled or enlisted, one thing was indisputable: werewolves are extremely dangerous.

That’s not to say that witches weren’t dangerous. They were often quite mad, but at least they didn’t have the massive bodies, sharp fangs, and claws like wild beasts. Moreover, most legends about witches and forests had a somewhat mischievous aspect… The most common belief was that witches set up magical circles in the forest based on the moon phases and lit bonfires to brew potions and summon demons. Various demons would come to the human world aided by the light of the bonfires, engaging wantonly with the witches. If a lost soul stumbled upon this wicked ritual, they would be drawn in, and by sunrise, the witches and demons would have left, leaving behind only a dried-up crucible, unburned logs, various lizard skins, cat skulls, and the desiccated corpses of the unfortunate passersby.

Being a man himself, Dwight certainly understood what the shopkeeper meant—no matter how terrifying the tale, lust always came first, a common trait among all male creatures. But these two options were only a choice between bad and worse. In their current soaked condition and with only the two of them, even the Duke couldn’t proudly claim, “As a man, of course, I must face the beast and fight for glory until death”—that would be just pretty nonsense.

Nor did it mean he was keen to witness witches and demons getting up to mischief in the pitch-black forest. The voluptuous witches of popular imagination were mostly a product of worldly lust. From the witch incidents he’d seen, long periods of isolation and strange alchemical experiments had made many witches look stranger than the demons themselves. Those who could use magic to maintain their youth and beauty were the well-known grand witches. A witch of that status might be wealthier than a noble with lands, hardly likely to run into a small forest to make bodily sacrifices to lowly demons… Anyone who took such stories seriously was surely a fool.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s hearing wasn’t physiologically weak, but it was the Duke of Brandenburg, often derided for being more sensitive than an elven girl, who could catch the faintest noises in the air, leading them towards the source of the sound. The deeper they went into the forest, the more they felt something was off—dim lights flickered through the sparse and dense tree trunks. They stopped some distance from the light source and listened quietly.

It was definitely not werewolves.

At this distance, any werewolf with their keen sense of smell would have detected them.

As for witches… it seemed not to be the case either. They didn’t smell burning potions. Instead, a faint scent of blood mingled into the air.

“Thieves?” Dwight frowned.

In areas without town jurisdiction and under noble rule, encountering thieves wasn’t unusual, which was also why civilian mobility rates were so low across continents. Travelers and merchant caravans that strayed from major roads could easily become targets for thieves, often meeting untimely ends in foreign lands. The common practice among these highway robbers was to kill for loot and then dispose of the bodies in swamps or throw them off cliffs. The sounds coming from the forest suggested digging, but without voices, it indeed resembled the actions of thieves disposing of bodies by night.

If they were just thieves, there wasn’t much to be afraid of, since the “entry requirements” for this “profession” weren’t high. A starving farmer could take up arms by night. If Eugene hadn’t met Charlie and his group, his life might well have led him to join a band of petty thieves. If they were dealing with that sort, the Duke, handsome and fierce in a fight, thought he could take on five single-handedly.

That said, creating complications wasn’t Dwight’s style. He considered quietly retreating before alerting them, but then noticed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper eagerly craning his neck forward, as if the digging and body-disposing were something worth observing.

What is wrong with this guy? Dwight thought irritably.

Sensing the Duke’s change in mood, Charlie turned around. The meager moonlight filtered through the branches seemed to fall into his large, round eyes.

“Look.” The shopkeeper’s voice was very low. Even so close, the Duke barely caught it.

They moved closer, peering carefully through the branches and bushes.

There were about two or three people, all in dark clothing. If not for a lantern hung on a half-dead hawthorn tree, even an owl would have trouble spotting them. At that moment, they had dug a shallow square pit from a small clearing among the trees, and a skinny figure began dragging something that looked like flour sacks from a donkey cart.

Charlie’s eyelids twitched involuntarily.

The shape and weight were clearly body bags.

One.

Two.

Three…

The lantern swayed in the night wind, causing the scent of blood to grow stronger in the air. Hunkering down behind the bushes, Charlie and Dwight watched their actions, their breathing growing heavy.

The number of bodies far exceeded the level of ordinary thieves. If not for the crude murmurs intermittently mixing with the night wind and the sleazy actions that even the night couldn’t hide, they might have thought they were witnessing a well-trained mercenary group.

But these men were almost within reach of Charlie and Dwight and still completely unaware, probably feeling that nothing but owls roamed the forest at night. They even began chatting as they filled the grave.

“So many again.”

“I need a strong drink when we get back, or I’ll have nightmares.”

“Come on, it’s not your first time…”

“Doesn’t make it any easier. What exactly is the master thinking, believing in that witch’s…”

Witch.

Dwight instinctively moved, glancing at Charlie, but the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was still staring at the group, seemingly unfazed by the content of the conversation.

His companion became anxious. “Shut up!”

He hissed lowly. “How dare you—”

The smaller man paused. “There’s no one else here right now.”

Another skinny man finished covering the last shovelfuls of earth. “I’ve heard she has many eyes and ears. Rats, trees, crows… They all listen to our words.”

“Stop talking,” the smaller man urged hurriedly. “I’m just scared. How many times have we been to this forest? And that old woman, where does she find so many—”

“We’re not allowed to talk about this,” the other man said, trying to keep the peace. “Load up your shovel. We’re heading back now.”

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The author has something to say:

Actually, whether it’s “expelled” or regurgitated, it’s all washed in water anyway.

But it seems like everyone wanted to see it “expelled”. How naughty.

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Kinky Thoughts:

Uh… One way is less gross than the other.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 37

Indeed, as Charlie had said, the Darby Belly Fish reacted very blandly to swallowing a few large living people—strictly speaking, it wasn’t “swallowing”. According to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, they were staying inside the fish’s mouth.

The space inside wasn’t as uncomfortable as everyone imagined. On the contrary, aside from the complete absence of light, there was nothing particularly uncomfortable. Perhaps this kind of fish had a unique ventilation system, as the space accommodating the passengers didn’t feel suffocating. The only oddity was the elastic sensation underfoot and along the walls.

This experience was very new for Duke Dwight and made him want to analyze the survival principles of this rare and exotic creature. As they entered the mouth of the fish, it seemed that the passengers themselves temporarily acquired the ability to change size, allowing them to follow the large fish through various rivers, streams, and even drainage outlets.

If all went well, the Darby Belly Fish would swim out of Syriacochi through the waterways and deposit them onshore at an appropriate location.

However, Dwight didn’t fully believe Charlie’s marketing spiel that the Darby Belly Fish was as docile as a sheep, content to be petted, and willing to carry humans. If such a rare creature, unseen even by him, were so naively simple, it wouldn’t have escaped human detection and survived to this day.

The tamer he spoke of must have taught him some trick, but the darkness provided perfect cover for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, and Dwight couldn’t deduce what he had done before entering the water.

“It’s so dark.” Columbus broke the silence. Perhaps because his body was made of tin, he was more resilient than humans, so he was least reactive to the unfamiliar environment. “Charlie, are we moving?”

“Yes. The Darby Belly Fish is fast, but it decides the destination, so I’m not sure how far we’ll go,” the shopkeeper said gently.

Eugene took a deep breath. “This is really…”

He muttered something in a dialect that no one understood, but the tone suggested it was neither grateful nor complimentary.

Everyone but the shopkeeper could empathize with his feelings.

Honestly, although Charlie had assured them that the journey was absolutely safe, for heaven’s sake, they were in the mouth of a large fish—how could they know for sure that this unheard-of animal was herbivorous? What if it got hungry while swimming and realized it had a snack right in its mouth? That would truly be courting death.

Losing the concept of time and space could instinctively make one anxious. As time passed, even Shivers quietly regretted their hasty decision to embark on this venture. He thought they might have been better off with the flying contraption made of chairs. Although they would have no chance to struggle if something went wrong in mid-air, the current dark and quiet environment tested their mental and physical endurance even more. If it wasn’t his imagination, he might even hear the heartbeat of the large fish…

Years of tacit understanding allowed Dwight to sense, even without seeing, that his Knight Commander was a bit tense. The uncertain environment placed a significant burden on Shivers, who felt responsible for the Duke’s safety, though he wouldn’t readily show his unease like Eugene.

It was the first time Dwight “saw” Shivers so restrained. It seemed that completely enclosed and dark spaces could indeed have a significant impact on people, but personally, he felt okay.

Thinking this, Dwight suddenly paused.

He had just realized that, since stepping into the fish’s mouth, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had not let go of his hand. Perhaps because the darkness and silence had drawn most of his attention, the Duke, who generally disliked unnecessary physical contact, had overlooked this detail. When he finally did notice, Dwight thought he would shake the hand off, but for some reason, his body didn’t react.

Perhaps in this environment, he found that the joined hands provided a miraculous supporting strength. The touch of skin conveyed a convincing sense of ‘not being alone’, more compelling than eye contact or voice. It was similar to the sensation of trembling from trekking through snow and finally holding a steaming cup of hot cocoa in hand. Even without actually drinking it, the warmth in the palm alone could produce a strangely comforting and stabilizing effect.

“Tell me about,” Dwight began, “the tamer.”

“Ah, it was in an autumn.” Charlie immediately grasped the Duke’s intention and began to speak in the tone he used for storytelling to the children in Maplewood. “Mrs. Mickey from next door rang my doorbell, complaining about the cat of the neighborhood priest ruining her herb garden. She wanted some thyme and nettles from me. I always welcomed Mrs. Mickey’s visits because she is a lovely, enthusiastic woman who never comes empty-handed. That day was no different. She brought deliciously fragrant fruit rolls, her specialty, still steaming when she set them on my table—oh, they smelled so sweet. After taking her herbs, she mysteriously told me, ‘Charlie, I guess you’ll have a visitor soon. You can serve them light coffee with fruit pie.’”

“I said, ‘Thank you, Mrs. Mickey. I’ll brew some coffee. But how do you know I’ll have a visitor?’”

“She said, ‘Ah, because there’s a foreign man standing on the street corner for half the day.’”

“I said, ‘But, foreigners don’t necessarily come to see me.’”

“Mrs. Mickey smirked and said, ‘Mr. Charlie, he’s definitely here to see you. Because I saw him hiding a dragon in his arms.’”

Charlie paused here. Sure enough, Eugene couldn’t contain himself. “A dragon? How is that possible? Everyone knows they no longer exist!”

Charlie chuckled softly. His voice was pleasant, articulate, and melodic, with the brightness of youth but also the maturity of age—a combination that significantly reduced the oppressiveness of the enclosed, dark space. “Don’t jump to conclusions so quickly, Eugene. Anyway, Mrs. Mickey was right. That foreign man really did come to see me. For some reason, he walked into my shop just after dusk, before the streetlights were lit, wanting to make a deal with me.”

“He told me he was a descendant of a tamer from the lost ancient kingdom of [Malta], whose ancestors had served the Malta royal family, possessing the ability to communicate with various rare and exotic animals.”

Dwight immediately asked, “Malta… the Kingdom of Gold?”

Charlie looked in his direction—though all he saw was pitch black. “You really are well-informed,” the shopkeeper sincerely praised. “The tamer said he’d been wandering the continent of Pennigra for fifty years, and everyone called him a delusional madman because no one had ever heard of such a country.”

The Duke pursed his lips and said nothing.

“I’ve never seen this name in any history book or map either, but the tamer claimed that not only does this country truly exist, it also…”

“It produces gold, unimaginably rich,” a voice with a metallic tinge continued his words. “Trees bear gems, rivers flow with honey and milk, drinking vessels are made of pure silver, and the palace roofs are made of gold. On clear days, that brilliant golden light can reflect across to the other side of the sea.”

At this point, Dwight paused. “But that’s just a fairy tale for children.”

The precocious Duke also had a childhood. No child was born enjoying obscure poetry, complicated history, or advanced arithmetic. He couldn’t frolic everywhere with commoner children, nor could he leave the castle at will. Therefore, before he became Duke, Dwight once bribed a lower steward to smuggle many leisure books into the castle for his amusement. Those children’s books, although also screened by the steward to ensure there was nothing indecent that the future Duke shouldn’t see, contained many whimsical fairy tales that didn’t really have anything objectionable beyond their absurdity.

Thanks to his superior memory, the adult Duke vividly remembered how many childish and crazy things he had been obsessed with as a child.

The Kingdom of Gold of Malta was recorded in one of the books smuggled into the castle, in a chapter of a collection of stories cobbled together by a third-rate writer. Because the book was crudely made and somewhat disjointed, it certainly wasn’t a bestseller at the time, and it was unclear how it had passed the castle’s screening to reach his hands. But young Dwight, being under strict educational supervision at the time, would read anything that wasn’t part of his curriculum, even a dull cookbook, and it was for this reason that he immediately remembered the name Malta when he heard it years later.

“I believe legends and fairy tales have a basis in reality,” the shopkeeper said. “And I have seen with my own eyes, that guest really did have the ability to communicate with animals…”

“Charlie, you haven’t talked about his dragon yet,” Columbus said eagerly.

“Don’t rush. I’m getting there. He did indeed have a little creature in his arms, but it wasn’t a dragon. It was a magical salamander with the ability to locate gold mines. He showed me how he could communicate with animals and taught me some tricks to tame rare and exotic beasts as compensation, one of which was the Darby Belly Fish. This species is quite widespread, characterized by a curiosity about humans and no malice. If handled correctly, the chance of summoning them and getting a response is quite high.”

Shivers, captivated by his story, interjected to ask, “If the Kingdom of Gold really exists, on which continent would it be?”

The Knight Commander believed that, compared to strange animals, the legendary visions of landscapes filled with gold were much more captivating.

Charlie chuckled lightly. “It remains a legend because no one knows where this country is. Even the tamer himself has never seen his homeland, as his ancestors had traveled far from home long ago. If such a place truly exists, it’s either powerful enough to dominate a continent or doomed to be destroyed by war. Perhaps being a lost country is the most fitting fate for it. After gradually disappearing into the flow of history, even some Malta people and exotic beasts who had scattered early on could no longer trace their homeland’s whereabouts, thus becoming foreigners, never able to return home in their lifetimes.”

Everyone fell silent.

Dwight then asked, “So, what deal did you make with that tamer? He gave you nearly mythical information about rare beasts, so you must have given him something equivalent in return. I guess you must have helped him find his way back home.”

To tame exotic beasts, coming from a land rich with gems and gold, the things considered valuable by such a tamer probably included directions, maps, or navigation to the Kingdom of Gold.

In other words, did this rabbit-headed shopkeeper actually know the real whereabouts of the now-vanished Kingdom of Gold?

Eugene naively said, “That’s right.”

“…This is a trade secret, not worth discussing.” Charlie smoothly deflected, forcibly changing the topic. “Honestly, this was also my first attempt at summoning a Darby Belly Fish. I was skeptical of this little trick before this.”

I don’t believe you at all.

Except for Columbus, this thought simultaneously crossed the minds of everyone else present. From the time spent together, not only had the shopkeeper shown the typical merchant’s silver tongue and thick skin, but his words also required careful consideration and skepticism—not to be taken at face value—if they didn’t want to be completely taken in by him.

This much was clear not only to Dwight and Shivers, but even the slightly less intelligent Eugene could feel it, thanks to his inherent cunning and caution.

The real naive one was the little tin soldier, Columbus.

He always took the shopkeeper’s words at face value. “The first time? Then how are we supposed to get out, Charlie?”

“Ah, as long as it thinks—”

The shopkeeper’s words were cut off as the previously calm, dark space suddenly shook like an earthquake, violently enough that everyone lost control and fell, sitting into the mouth of the Belly Fish.

The Duke suddenly had a bad feeling. His face fell, because the last time he felt this way, he was inside a flying box!

“Since this is your first time summoning this thing, then you can’t guarantee how we’re going to leave its mouth, right?” Dwight said unceremoniously. “Is it about to spit us out?”

Eugene: “I have a possibly inappropriate guess…”

Although it was dark and their faces couldn’t be seen, everyone looked uneasy. Before anyone could stop Eugene, he blurted out his guess. “It’s not going to pass us from the back, right?”

Even though he switched to a slightly more elegant expression in time, what greeted him was still a deathly silence.

Seeing the bad turn of events, the shopkeeper hurriedly interjected, “No, no, not at all.”

Just as he finished speaking, the oxygen in the dark space seemed to be sucked out in a second. Everyone felt compressed as if dehydrated, and it was getting tighter and tighter…

Struggling to breathe in the darkness, the shopkeeper managed to utter—

“Uh-oh.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 36

Although Lady Holly and she had a bit of a falling out, the lady’s anger didn’t extend to Martina. Thus, Martina readily lent out her house and, considering the generous compensation, generously stated that they could freely use the things in her house.

“Seriously, how did you manage to offend Lady Holly?” Charlie, rolling up his sleeves, squatted on the ground to carefully inspect an old, long-handled umbrella.

Shivers coughed, and Eugene stood by, cackling strangely.

Simply put, Sir Knight had publicly cuckolded Lady Holly and was “accidentally” caught by her in the act. Usually, half of the high-society parties were a cover for affairs, so a fleeting romance in the candlelight or shadows of the garden wasn’t strange. That evening, there were quite a few ladies interested in Shivers, and Sir Knight unscrupulously used one of them, flirting intensely until Lady Holly discovered them, naturally leading to his awkward escape amidst the clash of the two women.

Lady Holly and Shivers hadn’t developed any deep feelings, and her anger focused more on the fact that someone dared to encroach on her territory. As for Shivers, the self-proclaimed “impoverished noble” who came knocking, she didn’t bother to pursue the matter for the time being.

Sir Knight didn’t think this kind of manipulative tactic was worth discussing, so he grabbed an uneven chair to change the subject. “Can this be used?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at it and said, “Yes, get a few more.”

Dwight sat under the canopy Shivers had set up for him, leisurely watching as they, under Charlie’s direction, continuously dragged out all sorts of bizarre items from Martina’s house, which could be called a junkyard, and assembled them in even more bizarre ways.

Fortunately, the men were all quite nimble, and by evening, they had nearly finished the job.

“This will do.” Charlie tightened the last screw and stood up with a sense of accomplishment. He took a few steps back to admire his handiwork properly.

Five back chairs were lined up and tightly tied together. Two long-handled umbrellas were split into four pieces, keeping the ribs that supported the umbrella canopy attached to the sides of the chairs. A vintage wicker basket was nailed to the back of the front chair, holding a miner’s lamp, and the last chair had a short broom added ‘to maintain balance’—the shopkeeper said.

“What is this?” Dwight looked at the contraption they had assembled in the yard, struggling to find the right words to describe this heap of junk.

“This is a dragon-shaped aircraft.” Charlie was quite pleased with his work. “That flight box gave me the inspiration. With a bit of puppetry potion and a magic circle to calculate energy conversion, we can temporarily transfer the souls of nearby birds to this little guy. I’ve fitted it with a head, wings, a tail, and a body—it seats five.”

But the Duke’s attention wasn’t on the number of seats. “You call this thing a dragon?”

“Not a traditional dragon. I referred to a more ancient variety, more agile, faster, and with a very short presence in history. Many scholars believe they didn’t go extinct but migrated collectively to the far east. Their flying capabilities make seemingly unreachable distances possible…”

“I refuse.” The Duke cut off the shopkeeper bluntly. “I will not ride this thing, not for a second.”

“Why?” Charlie asked, baffled. “This is the best way out! When night falls, we fly a bit higher, high enough that the watchtowers can’t see us, and getting over the city walls will be a breeze. The puppetry potion might not be as good as that flight box, but I’m sure it can give us a safe distance!”

“Because it’s too ugly!” Dwight was also a bit astonished. “How could you think I would agree to sit on it?”

In Lemena, just letting his eyes see such a monstrosity would be enough to convict someone of insult!

Honestly, Dwight felt that Charlie’s mere thought of him riding this ugly “aircraft” was an offense in itself.

Charlie, uncharacteristically losing his composure, glared at the Duke for a while, then turned to look at Shivers, who was more sensible.

Shivers was in a difficult position. He actually thought Charlie’s idea was good, as flying was better than attempting to challenge the defense forces of Mokwen royal city. But out of loyalty and understanding of the Duke, he knew his master would absolutely resist anything he considered unattractive.

One should know, the Duke of Brandenburg was so particular that he even picked out the uniforms for the serfs on his estate—other nobles wouldn’t even glance at a slave twice, let alone care whether they were dressed in rags or naked, as long as they could work.

The Knight Commander couldn’t afford to insult Dwight’s dignity, but he also knew that the technical escape expertise was in the shopkeeper’s hands, and it was best not to offend him too harshly. Thus, he took the middle ground. “This thing… isn’t waterproof, right? What if it rains or snows tonight?”

At least the flight box had a cover. Though it was a bit stuffy, it had blankets and music inside. Asking a pampered Duke to sit on a hard back chair and fly for two hours in the cold wind, possibly getting soaked to the bone, was indeed asking too much.

Besides, it wouldn’t be good for Columbus to get rained on either, as he might rust.

Charlie paused and turned to look at his aircraft.

He knew that the comfort of something made in haste couldn’t be high, but what actually annoyed him was Dwight’s unequivocal dismissal of his aesthetic—how was this aircraft ugly? He thought its design was quite punk!

But since Shivers brought up a practical issue, he would reconsider, as the shopkeeper was a reasonable person.

Although the chances of rain or snow were half and half at this time of year, it was indeed possible. Adding a windbreak tent or something similar on top would greatly increase the drag during flight. Magic wasn’t Charlie’s strongest subject, and compared to a flight box that could cross countries overnight, his aircraft was merely using potions and magical conduction to temporarily transfer the souls of birds to the aircraft, not only with a time limit but also limited power, and any increase in drag would greatly impact the flight speed and altitude—this was why he chose materials that were structurally simple and lightweight during assembly.

While Charlie was in a quandary, Dwight frowned. “I remember you had another option.”

“Darkness” and “cold”—Dwight guessed this referred to the cold.

What about darkness?

If he could maintain basic dignity, the Duke felt he would choose darkness. After all, he wasn’t afraid of the dark, but he was allergic to ugliness.

The shopkeeper hesitated, his ears twitching reluctantly.

After all, the aircraft was already made. It would be a pity not to use it.

And…

“That method would be more costly,” the shopkeeper indicated.

Dwight, growing impatient, waved his hand, and the knight leaned in to whisper something in the shopkeeper’s ear.

The shopkeeper immediately beamed. “Then let’s don our cloaks and set off—Eugene, say goodbye to Martina for us. We really should thank her properly.”

As he spoke, the sky began to drizzle.

At this, Charlie completely gave up on the aircraft he had spent hours assembling. After all, the truly expensive potion hadn’t been used yet, and the pile of things was just Martina’s miscellaneous goods.

But Martina wasn’t home.

After lending them her house, she had gone out, and Eugene said she usually “worked” in a tavern in the lower city at night.

“Martina said just to lock the door. She won’t be coming back tonight.” Columbus also donned his mini cloak, beautifully crafted with a red base and blue trim, complete with stylish pockets—one of the winter items the skilled shopkeeper had made for him in Maplewood.

Eugene was surprised. “She told you that?”

Columbus, not understanding the implication, nodded. “She left when you guys were busy and told me before she went. She asked me to hide the key in the second brick crevice above the door frame.”

Eugene was somewhat disappointed. “I thought she liked me.” After all, Martina had been quite affectionate towards him lately.

Shivers said, “I think she really does like you.”

Eugene buttoned up his cloak all the way to his face, making his voice muffled. “That’s an illusion. Shouldn’t a woman cry and hug the man she loves when he leaves? At least leave a handkerchief or something?”

Shivers: “……”

Charlie, carrying a lantern, walked past him, shaking his head with a smile.

Columbus followed closely behind the shopkeeper. Having never been in love, he had nothing to add.

The Duke passed by with a reserved air, dropping a single word. “Childish.”

Eugene, inexplicably looked down upon, stood alone in the narrow yard, then suddenly turned to look back.

The two-story stone house, either carelessly built or eroded over the years, looked a bit tilted. The gray walls were sparsely covered with frost-resistant moss, and a pink, out-of-fashion women’s hat hung on the second-floor balcony.

When alone, Martina once proudly told him that at her most popular, she hadn’t splurged on jewelry, dresses, or perfumes like other women, nor had she schemed to marry a wealthy businessman. Instead, she immediately bought this house once she had saved enough money and planned to save again to open a small bakery. Unfortunately, as young women continuously flowed into the city’s various taverns, her business dwindled, and though it became tough later, she managed to sustain her livelihood.

At the time, Eugene only felt that Martina’s life planning was unexpectedly conventional, contrasting with her appearance, yet he didn’t know why she had shared this with him.

In fact, he still didn’t understand, only knowing that now that he was about to leave, he didn’t know why, but he turned back to look at this unremarkable stone house.

Charlie stood outside the door waiting for him, securing the loose number 24 on the door plate. He watched as Eugene came out and locked the door.

“Martina is a good woman,” the shopkeeper said.

Eugene grinned under his cloak.

“Yeah.” He hid the key in the brick crevice and picked up their luggage. Since they needed to travel light, they had left the livestock cart to Martina as extra compensation.

The Duke and the Knight Commander had already walked out of Fallen Leaves Lane, looking back impatiently at the three of them. Raindrops fell on his smooth waterproof cloak, rustling as they rolled off onto the ground, splashing up tiny sprays.

The shopkeeper quickened his steps, his old lantern creaking in his hand.

“What does ‘darkness’ mean, exactly?” the young Duke finally couldn’t help but ask.

It was already getting dark, and this old part of town had no streetlights. With the rain, the residents, already used to walking in corners, were rarely seen, and only their group hurriedly passed through the streets with lanterns, quickly disappearing into a narrow turn.

“Have you heard of the legend of the water monster?” Charlie led the way, his voice fragmented by the rain.

“Many places with abundant water sources have had rumors of water monsters, elusive and of immense size. Sometimes people encounter them, and just the part visible above the water’s surface is incredibly huge. Many people speculate that if a water monster appeared, it could effortlessly swallow a cow.”

The knowledgeable Duke clearly knew of these rumors. “Although there are many sightings, these creatures have never been successfully captured. In fact, their existence is still uncertain because—”

“Because they can’t be caught.” The shopkeeper’s voice was sly. “Water monster sightings aren’t limited to big rivers. They’ve been seen in large lakes as well. Once, someone extravagantly drained a lake to catch a water monster, but they caught nothing but ordinary fish.”

He seemed very familiar with Syriacochi, leading them through the town to a place that looked like an abandoned brick factory and found a drainage outlet nearby.

The shopkeeper set the lantern down on the steps beside the outlet, gently turned off the lantern, and the light instantly went out.

The nearby houses were enveloped in darkness. Their eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the dark, so they were unable to see anything. The only sound came from Charlie’s talking. “But saying they can’t be caught is incorrect. It’s just an excuse made by dull people to cover their failures. Actually, these water monsters are rare beasts, possessing a miraculous ability to shrink their bodies at will. Even if originally as big as a house, they could shrink to smaller than a frog, easily escaping whether through fishing nets or drainage outlets.”

No one knew what he did, but only Dwight and Shivers, with their keen ears, heard him pour something into the water channel. It sounded slightly different from the rain.

“I once hosted a guest who claimed to be a descendant of a tamer from an ancient country, who exchanged some interesting techniques with me as compensation…”

His voice trailed off, and everyone clearly heard something slowly moving along the water, then splashing to the surface.

“The mainland is unimaginably vast, and humans have explored only a small part. In places we can’t see, there are many rare birds and beasts. If handled correctly, they can unleash unexpected powers.”

Dwight’s eyes had gradually adapted to the darkness, but in the deep night, the water surface without any light reflection looked like a pool of black ink. He couldn’t even see what emerged from the water, but both he and Shivers felt no danger.

“Like this so-called water monster, the Darby Belly Fish, which can freely change its size, making it unstoppable in water, while also being able to carry more cargo than a horse-drawn carriage… including living beings. But it consumes a lot, so it requires a significant amount of food or an energy source to be driven.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper pulled back his hood and extended his hand to the Duke.

“Don’t worry, the Darby Belly Fish is as gentle as a sheep.”

After a brief silence, a hand touched Charlie’s palm, slightly cool to the touch.

No one could see, but the shopkeeper’s furry rabbit face bore a slight smile.

“Please watch your step, Your Grace.”

---

The author has something to say:

Scratching my head. The Duke is technically still not past adolescence and combined with the education he received and the early responsibilities of being a pillar of support, he is indeed more childish and selfish compared to Charlie, who is nearly ten years his senior.

Martina is very mature, and in the presence of the Duke and the Knight Commander, she has never wavered, but Eugene is silly.

One day, everyone will grow up.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 35

Christine and Lestrop’s past relationship indeed provided Tifa with a perfect reason to be wary of them, but Yitzfa also provided them with a more secretive detail.

“The woman who died was pregnant,” Shivers said gravely.

This was highly confidential, unknown even to members of the Mokwen Senate, but Tifa was definitely aware of it. Precisely for this reason, Shivers felt something was very suspicious, and he didn’t hesitate to offend Lady Holly in order to report this to Dwight immediately.

As expected, this caught Dwight’s attention right away.

“Interesting.” The Duke of Brandenburg chuckled lowly, though no one present would think he was genuinely pleased.

“What’s Tifa planning?” Dwight seemed to be asking Shivers, but it was more like he was pondering to himself.

It wasn’t strange for a King to have a mistress, nor for a mistress to be assassinated, and even for a mistress to be pregnant.

But it was very unusual for a prostitute mistress to be pregnant.

Even the most foolish monarch wouldn’t want an heir born to a woman of such low status. Under any circumstances, the legitimate children from the official wife were considered of the highest status, even if the wife was one’s enemy. If the wife was infertile, considering Tifa’s status, if he wanted a child, he should have chosen from among Mokwen’s noblewomen, not allowed a prostitute to carry the royal heir—no matter how deranged Tifa might be, the Senate would never approve, especially when Tifa thought his position on the throne was unstable. If he wanted to garner power support, he should have sought an alliance with a woman whose family power could rival Christine’s.

“Yitzfa said his information stops here,” Shivers responded. “But he didn’t deny the suggestion that Tifa had ulterior motives. I proposed increasing the price, but he refused.”

Whatever Tifa was actually doing, one thing was certain—and something all those in power do: he was trying to consolidate his kingship. The question is, what means was he planning to use? The dead woman’s identity had been confirmed, so a political marriage was impossible, and so was grooming an heir. While methods of consolidating power were often shady, secret midnight meetings, mysterious flying box, prostitutes and blood, and an aborted fetus—nearly every element leaned towards sinister black magic—Mokwen, a martial kingdom, was supposed to reject magic.

Yitzfa clearly knew more but chose to withhold it. Normally, as long as the price was right, the Fox family could sell any secret. But within the Black Gold Family’s hierarchical system, the sale of information also involved issues of access.

For someone at the bottom like Martina, five gold coins would get you Lady Holly’s secret predilections, but at the higher echelons like Yitzfa, rare elven plants could be exchanged for royal secrets unknown even to the Senate.

Therefore, if Yitzfa explicitly stated that even for a large sum he could no longer sell information, there was only one reason: at his level, he could reveal only so much, and any further inquiry would likely require someone above Yitzfa to answer their questions.

Yitzfa appearing in Mokwen was already a low-probability event. They couldn’t expect to meet another significant Fox family member in a short time.

What significant secret could Tifa possess that even the Fox family had to be cautious about? Keep in mind, this kingdom, neither vast in territory nor economy, couldn’t even compete in the first tier of empires.

Dwight sat back on the sofa, exhaling deeply. His worst-case scenario had been that Priscilla had contracted an incurable severe illness, but upon seeing his sister in robust health, he instead uncovered a conspiracy more unpredictable than any disease.

Was Lestrop at the center of the conspiracy? More importantly, where had he placed his own wife?

Charlie sat on the terrace, looking down. It was now fully daylight, and their hotel was at the junction of the residential and commercial districts. Many people were already out the door for the morning market. The calls of vendors and the smell of baking bread mingling together sounded unbelievably peaceful.

The bloody incident in the palace had nothing to do with them. The people were actually more concerned about whether the price of milk had gone up.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had his high-quality top hat dusted spotless, probably because the hunt for the “beautiful elven woman” had naturally fizzled out due to the urgency of catching the murderer. This also allowed the naturally beautiful Duke to breathe a little easier—though he hardly went out, spending his days sitting in the room, brooding with a face full of woes, and then snapping at everyone.

Charlie had no doubts about Dwight’s capabilities. The Duke’s mind was actually more aggressive than his appearance, forcing Charlie to tread carefully and strategically throughout his journey. However, much like running in the rain, no matter how cautious, it was impossible to completely avoid the fine raindrops. No matter how fast one ran, raindrops inevitably would leave mottled traces on your hat.

The shopkeeper sighed, unable to even muster the energy to smoke.

The little tin soldier sat beside him, also looking down, imitating his example.

“Things are different here than in Maplewood. Everyone is always in a hurry.” Columbus clung to the fence, too short to do anything but squeeze his head between the bars, likely startling anyone who looked up from below.

Charlie remained silent.

The little tin soldier withdrew his head, looking at him worriedly.

“I really like Maplewood,” Columbus blurted out suddenly. “I wish I hadn’t come here.”

Charlie smiled faintly, reaching out to touch the little tin soldier’s hat. Although the weather was warming up, the morning dew still left his bright head damp.

“Don’t talk nonsense. This is your hometown,” Charlie said vaguely. “It’s not just because of you that I left Maplewood. Anyway… I had to come back.”

“No,” the little tin soldier said earnestly. “You and I are different. Your soul is whole.”

A whole soul… The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked down at his hands and sighed. “Who knows about such things?”

Even during the days they lived on 23 Paulownia Street, they rarely spoke seriously about this. Being far from the Doran continent allowed Columbus to lead a seemingly free life, but his soul continued to be eroded by an evil curse, his body becoming increasingly stiff.

The shopkeeper could keep replacing his tin body, but he couldn’t repair his soul. Even if the soul could be restored to new, Columbus would forever live as a tin soldier, watching those around him being taken away by the long years, left behind alone. Whether this was enough happiness for a once diligent, lively young man who loved sunshine and friends, Charlie never asked.

“Your soul is also whole,” Charlie said softly.

If not for Columbus’ miraculous ability to maintain his sanity under the curse, he couldn’t have taken him from that group of puppet-like tin soldiers.

Columbus didn’t contradict him. His melancholic expression was comical on his adorable tin soldier face. “But I’m gradually forgetting many things.”

“That’s probably because you’ve grown old.” Charlie laughed. “It’s the same for everyone who ages. Someone once told me that memory is the luggage of life, constantly accumulating from the moment of birth and gradually discarded as we grow old, until death.”

Columbus pondered. “I don’t want to forget everything. I hope that when I die, I can still remember you, my family’s wheat fields, and my sister. I have a sister, right?”

“Yes, your little Balda,” the shopkeeper said. “Elena’s domain isn’t far east of Mokwen. Before that, do you want to go back home to see if Balda is still there?”

It was an overly optimistic thought. A village as impoverished as theirs, losing more than half its labor force in one fell swoop due to offending a witch, would face catastrophic impacts, especially for families left with only women and children. Decades later, Columbus’s parents were likely gone, and if Balda hadn’t tragically died as an orphan, it was unlikely for a girl to remain living alone at home. She probably had left to marry.

After so many years apart, even Charlie’s magic for finding people would struggle to reunite Columbus with her.

Columbus understood this too.

“What about you, Charlie?” the little tin soldier asked him. “Will you see Elena?”

Although he didn’t know the reason, he knew Charlie didn’t mind continuing to live with a rabbit head.

The shopkeeper blinked. “You know, sometimes I feel like I was a rabbit in a past life.”

“Did I hear that wrong, or are you actually quite proud of this?”

A familiar tone of mockery rose behind them. Charlie and Columbus turned to see the Duke, who had appeared in the living room without their notice. He didn’t approach the balcony, instead frowning and avoiding the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Sleeplessness made his complexion even paler than usual, making him look like a sleep-deprived vampire.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, tipping his hat to him.

“You’re discussing Elena,” Dwight said without moving forward.

“The curse on Columbus is growing stronger. We think it’s best to deal with it sooner rather than later,” Charlie said, noticing the Duke’s pale face and adding, “If you agree, that is.”

“Do you have a way out of the city?” Dwight asked, not responding immediately.

Before today, the magical flight box was undoubtedly a good way to freely enter and exit Syriacochi, avoiding guards and walls. But setting aside the method of operation, the device had lost its magic after crashing, and even bringing it back for repairs was futile.

Now the royal city was under martial law. All the nobles couldn’t return to their domains for the time being, and the city gates were tightly guarded. Among their group was a ‘beautiful elf who seemed to walk in the morning light’ (as described by Viscount William), a person with a rabbit’s head, and a talking, walking tin soldier toy—getting out of the city undetected would be miraculous.

“Of course, there’s a way. Shopkeeper Charlie can do anything,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said proudly.

“Ah, you’re right. I remember rabbits can dig holes,” the Duke said expressionlessly. “So, you’re planning to dig a tunnel under the wall to get out?”

Even the adaptable Duke felt this was too much.

Charlie sighed. “Of course not! Allow me to remind you, I am a graduate of Monterey Academy—”

“Top of your class, yes,” the Duke said. “So, you can make a flight box to take us out?”

“‘Us’? You’re leaving too?” Charlie was taken aback.

Dwight didn’t answer but glared at him with a “what nonsense are you talking about” look.

“Lady Priscilla is still in the city. I thought you would stay first,” the shopkeeper said honestly, thinking the Duke would stay to contend with the chaotic plots of the Mokwen royal family for his sister.

“Priscilla should be fine for now,” Dwight said tiredly. “She assured me that her health is fine.”

The situation in Syriacochi, and indeed the entire Kingdom of Mokwen, was unclear and not a place to linger. Priscilla also strongly demanded that he leave—not only out of concern for her brother but also because staying as a Duke in such a place of contention was indeed unwise.

Dwight’s mind was clear. Only if he was safe could he support Priscilla, no matter what she was facing now.

He didn’t plan to return to Pennigra immediately, but he also couldn’t recklessly put himself in danger, especially without an heir to inherit his name and power. This would be irresponsible to the Dwight family and all of Lemena.

After seeing Priscilla, Dwight’s purpose in sneaking into the Doran continent was temporarily concluded. Priscilla’s rose had withered to only one-third of its petals, still barely surviving, and the Duke needed to redefine his goals and plans.

“We can sign a new contract,” Dwight said, his light-colored pupils fixed on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. “Our employment relationship won’t end until I return to Pennigra, and as for compensation, you can make two requests within my power.”

Charlie thought for a moment before speaking. “For me, compensation isn’t the priority, as you know. Columbus and I have things to do in Doran.”

“Our goals won’t conflict,” Dwight said calmly. He knew that the curse on Columbus and Charlie was the main reason the rabbit-headed shopkeeper came to Doran, and now they were likely to head straight for Elena, but that was fine.

After all, he still needed time to clarify some things… Before that, he had no fixed itinerary.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at him, and the Duke met his gaze. They stared silently at each other for a while before the shopkeeper compromised.

“Then I might need to replan,” Charlie said honestly. “But before that, a little survey. Your Grace, which can you tolerate more, darkness or cold?”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 34

Eugene was nearly frozen to death.

People of their status as servants weren’t privileged enough to enter the nobles’ villas or take shelter in the masters’ carriages. They could only huddle in the corners of stables for warmth alongside the animals. But they had arrived too late, and the better spots were already taken by others. Not wanting to cause trouble, Eugene simply left the stable to stroll in the garden—it was uncertain whether Lady Holly would even let Shivers return to the carriage after the party anyway.

The conservatory, known as the Miracle of Winter Nights, was made of glass, a style that was quite popular in the elite castles of Pennigra and had begun to spread to Doran in recent years. The garden outside the conservatory wasn’t as warm as inside. Most of the flowers and plants were lifeless from the cold. Only the honeysuckle bushes used as decorative barriers retained some greenery.

Stomping his feet, Eugene walked past several clusters of bare rose bushes and was stretching his back when he looked up to see a pair of legs dangling not far ahead.

Eugene rubbed his eyes in confusion. “???”

He thought he was seeing things—a person was hanging from the second-floor outer wall. On closer inspection, it was clearly the Knight Commander, who should have been inside, making polite conversation beside the sofa.

Shivers was desperately clutching at the decorative carvings on the outer wall, trying to balance himself—he had forgotten that the nighttime dew made these stone walls ten times slicker than usual, and his outfit today was entirely unsuitable for climbing walls and jumping through windows.

“What are you doing?” Eugene approached close enough to ask in a lowered voice.

“Give me a hand,” Shivers said through gritted teeth. His luck wasn’t too bad. If Eugene had come five minutes later, he might have broken his ankle.

Fortunately, not many were wandering outside in the cold night. Otherwise, this situation would be hard to explain.

Thanks to the ladies’ extravagant tastes, which left the exterior walls unnecessarily covered with complex carvings, a few minutes later, Shivers finally landed safely on his target balcony.

He turned and waved down at Eugene to indicate he was alright.

Eugene gestured silently from below. “What—are—you—doing?”

Shivers gestured to his ears and then pointed inside. “The Fox—is—inside—”

The young man named Yitzfa was indeed very spoiled. He appeared in the conservatory for less than fifteen minutes and left, giving Shivers no chance to speak with him privately. Such a brief appearance was undoubtedly rude, but even Countess Donna could do nothing about him.

Thus, the Knight Commander decided to greet him in an unconventional way. Who knew that the dewy, mossy stone wall would nearly spoil his plans. He signaled Eugene to return to the carriage before turning to examine the balcony’s glass doors.

The lock was probably latched from the inside. With a curtain in between, the noise of picking the lock shouldn’t disturb anyone inside.

But just as Shivers placed his hand on the window frame, the curtains inside were suddenly pulled back with a “whooshed”, and a beautiful face unexpectedly met the Knight Commander’s astonished eyes.

Yitzfa was dressed in soft satin pajamas, with a long-haired white cat lying at his feet, staring unblinkingly at Shivers.

The Knight Commander wasn’t new to nocturnal escapades, but usually he climbed rose terraces, and the person waiting for him in the room was typically not a man with a smile that was both mocking and amused.

This made him a bit embarrassed.

However, Yitzfa himself seemed unconcerned, calmly opening the French doors to let the Knight Commander inside. The warm air made Shivers shiver.

“Your friend is still downstairs.” Yitzfa asked politely, “Would you like another cup of tea brewed? It’s very cold outside.”

Great, even Eugene had seen him.

The Knight Commander turned and signaled to Eugene, who was still waiting below, to go back and get warm.

Yitzfa stepped back onto the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed, as Shivers surveyed the femininely delicate bedroom and decided to get straight to the point.

“My name is Green, sent by my master to pay respects.” He took a square envelope from his pocket, sealed with dark green wax. The center was embossed with an ornate capital ‘D’.

A letter crest, proof of nobility, but without a border emblem—it didn’t belong to the royal family. Just a crest couldn’t fully reveal the sender’s identity, as families beginning with ‘D’ on the two old continents weren’t countless but indeed numerous. Unless absolutely necessary, one wouldn’t fully expose their identity and demands, a reticence typical of nobility.

Yitzfa seemed not at all surprised by Shivers’s act of climbing the balcony, likely because Martina had informed him through internal channels about Shivers, which was probably why he was unshaken by the presence of an illegal intruder.

Yet, he didn’t seem to care about Shivers’s identity or that of his master. He took the envelope, his gaze not lingering on the wax seal for more than a second, before quickly tearing it open.

The next moment, he raised an eyebrow and whistled softly.

“‘Healing fruit’, something only found in the elven forests.” Yitzfa looked at the small fruit that slid into his palm from the envelope, so light it seemed weightless. Even removed from its branch, the jewel-like red fruit, the size of a knuckle, didn’t dim. Its glossy surface revealed juicy flesh and its distinctive cross-shaped pattern at the base, making it instantly recognizable for its uniqueness.

“It can be taken directly or squeezed into a potion to heal any visible wound, but it is ineffective against magic and curses,” Shivers said. “Even if you searched all the pharmacies in Doran, you’d probably not find five such things. My master doesn’t like to haggle. He hopes this will prove our sincerity.”

To place such a rare and expensive item in an ordinary envelope as a reward was somewhat arrogant, but including Shivers, no one thought there was anything wrong with this attitude.

The Black Gold Families might be powerful, but the nobility who truly held power didn’t need to lower their stance towards them—not even if they needed to act discreetly now. The Duke’s pride was firm on this point.

Yitzfa put the healing fruit back in the envelope, kicked the drowsy white cat with his toe, and the cat reluctantly got up, twisting its plump backside towards the door.

“Donna will be back in at least half an hour,” Yitzfa said, his lips naturally curved upwards, giving him the appearance of always smiling. “So, what do you want to know?”

“The background of the woman who died in Tifa’s room, and the relationships among the main members of the Mokwen royal family.”

Yitzfa laughed. “I thought you were generous enough, but now I think you’re being quite stingy.”

Implying that a single elf-grown fruit wasn’t worth much.

Shivers smiled subtly. “The stakes can, of course, be increased.”

“Alright.” Yitzfa rolled his eyes as his fingers touched a bone china cup. “That woman was a prostitute, not a local—and not from the Fox family.” He met Shivers’s gaze and shrugged. “Don’t think that we manage all the women in the world.”

“Blonde, brown eyes, delicate skin. That’s the mark of a high-class prostitute, available only in royal cities or major trading metropolises. If she wasn’t from Syriacochi, then she must have come from a neighboring country or further away—no signs of living in Syriacochi, relying on magic or witchcraft to travel between places, but the spell caster was someone else.”

“Evidence?” Shivers asked.

Yitzfa blinked. “I guessed.”

Knight Commander: “……”

Shivers didn’t seem offended by his seemingly joking manner—actually, he was somewhat surprised. Yitzfa’s deductions were spot on. Apart from Tifa and the caster, probably only the Duke and his few men knew about the existence of that flying box. Yitzfa’s ability to deduce facts from scant clues was something Shivers had only seen in the Duke.

Seeing Shivers silent, Yitzfa chuckled. “Just kidding, the Fox family doesn’t deal with uncertain information. Our sources are confidential, but indeed, that woman appeared in the palace using some unsavory magic. Everyone blames Queen Christine as the murderer, but there’s no direct evidence, and the elders can’t convict her. And Tifa himself is well aware that his Queen isn’t a murderous fiend.”

“Tifa has many mistresses?” Shivers immediately caught the hidden information in Yitzfa’s words.

Yitzfa snapped his fingers. “To my knowledge, she’s the third.”

As he spoke, a flash of lightning unexpectedly streaked across the cold night sky, illuminating his beautiful, expressionless face.

“She’s not the first mistress of Tifa’s to be killed.” Dwight sat in an armchair, watching the sudden downpour fiercely beating against the windowpane, crackling loudly.

And the rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched Shivers with interest. “So, how did you get back?”

It was still dark outside, and he had assumed that, given Lady Holly’s style, Shivers wouldn’t be able to extricate himself for three or five days. He hadn’t expected the Knight Commander to be so efficient, cleanly cutting off his connection with the “sponsor” after meeting with the Fox.

Eugene laughed loudly. Shivers somewhat embarrassedly said, “Because I was in a hurry to come back, I used some methods… Lady Holly probably isn’t too pleased.”

Dwight didn’t care about their peachy encounters in the Countess’ mansion. He impatiently glared at Charlie, accusing him of straying off-topic.

Charlie coughed. “If Yitzfa’s information is accurate, then being ‘the King’s mistress’ is indeed a risky job in Mokwen. The question is, why?”

“The same thing happens not only in Mokwen,” the young Duke said coldly. “Her death wasn’t really news anymore.”

The word “news” unexpectedly struck a nerve in Charlie, reminding him of something.

Not long ago, in a small town near the border, by a blazing fireplace, the air still carried a hint of dessert after a meal. Everyone was exhausted after a long journey, drowsily listening to him read a newspaper that Columbus and Eugene had bought.

What did the newspaper say? A wealthy prostitute died somewhere. The paper spent considerable space detailing the beauty of this voluptuous, blonde woman, and her visitors were all captivated by her…

“Wilken,” Charlie murmured softly. “That day’s paper mentioned that a prostitute in Wilken died mysteriously in her own room.”

Shivers’s already stiff back straightened even more as he quickly calculated in his mind. “That’s not close to Syriacochi.”

“The strangeness of the news was that her maid had blown out the candle and closed the door for her, but the next morning she was found dead in her room,” Charlie said.

“Dead in the room, not on the bed.” Shivers pondered for a moment. “If using that flying box, crossing the continent overnight would be possible.”

“Even if Tifa himself isn’t the murderer, this matter can’t be unrelated to him. Any sane person’s reaction to finding a stranger suddenly in their bedroom would be shocked, not flirtation,” Shivers said. “According to Yitzfa, Tifa’s affairs and neglect of Christine only started after he became King. When he was still Prince Tifa, his focus was mostly on academia. He reportedly had talent in literature and painting and wasn’t very close to girls.”

“That kind of child doesn’t sound like the old King’s favorite,” Charlie mused thoughtfully.

Mokwen’s tradition of valuing martial prowess was well known. The former King spent his life fervently expanding the kingdom’s territories, and the heir he favored, though not necessarily the most like him, would at least be the bravest in battle.

Many knew that the King’s favored heir was his beloved fifth son, Ramore, and Christine was originally Ramore’s fiancée.

But compared to her fiancé, who was fully committed to the military, young Christine preferred the thoughtful and courteous third prince, Lestrop, with whom she had secret meetings for a while. Coincidentally, at that time, border conflicts erupted, and the old King and Prince Ramore died unexpectedly in war. With the support of Christine’s kingdom behind him, Lestrop could have replaced Ramore, but in the end, Christine married the somewhat marginalized seventh prince Tifa, and Tifa thus ascended the throne.

The Fox family’s ability to infiltrate was terrifying because such royal secrets were usually prohibited from discussion, not out of a desire to curb gossip, but because the informed could deduce much from these affairs. Yitzfa’s ability to casually sell this information to Shivers at least showed that Fox’s infiltration into Mokwen was deeper than they imagined.

“In many eyes, Tifa’s kingship isn’t legitimate. Lestrop’s existence poses a threat to him, so after ascending the throne, the still-young ninth prince, Baylor, was made a Duke, but Lestrop was only an Earl,” Dwight said gravely. “Although he married Christine, he doesn’t trust her.”

One his brother, the other his wife. For what reasons did Tifa so distrust these two?

In the distance, the sky gradually brightened with the foggy light of dawn, and the Duke of Brandenburg watched the break of day, his light-colored pupils colder than the ice of winter.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 33

“That’s not fair,” Eugene said. “Am I not handsome?”

Martina pressed her ample chest tightly against him as she held his arm and replied, “Dear, of course you’re handsome.”

“Then why do I have to be the coachman?” Eugene asked discontentedly.

He and Martina were standing at the back door of a mansion. A quarter of an hour earlier, Shivers, fully dressed up, was led inside by a plump woman, while he and Martina clearly didn’t even have the privilege to warm up by the kitchen stove, forced to wait behind the carriage instead.

Martina’s chest was mostly exposed to the night air, but she seemed not to feel the cold at all.

“Lady Holly prefers a more gentlemanly type of young man, ideally one with refined pronunciation, who can recite poetry to her in a singing tone.”

Gentleman? Eugene thought that was because she hadn’t seen Shivers beat up a wild wolf with his bare hands—the guy’s abs were more orderly than the loaves from a bakery… But he was just grumbling. Any noblewoman would be charmed by Shivers’s face, as if the Sun God himself had descended. Eugene wasn’t foolish enough to truly compete with Shivers over looks.

Martina was actually just securing an “interview” opportunity for Shivers, who was using the alias “Green”. However, the Knight Commander unquestionably passed the test, and within an hour, someone informed Eugene that he had secured the job of coachman for the evening.

Thanks to his employers and companions, all being high-society folks, this not-too-long, not-too-short journey had turned him into a half-professional coachman, newsboy, concierge, cook… And thanks to the fact that Duke was so wealthy, he spared no expense when conditions allowed. Otherwise, just a few months prior, figuring out how to open such a sophisticated carriage door could have taken him all night.

It took Shivers a while to come out and meet them from the back door. Martina could only accompany them this far, but she was still pleased to straighten Eugene’s collar, although from her expression, she might have preferred to offer that service to Shivers.

Lady Holly and her adopted daughter left from the front door, and Eugene could only drive the understated yet expensive carriage, following at a moderate distance behind them.

The destination of the party remained a secret until their arrival because the dinner was just a pretext. In reality, while the men gathered in the salon to smoke cigars, the women had their ways of finding amusement. This kind of party, dominated by noblewomen and kept discreet, also existed in Pennigra, but Shivers had never imagined he would also one day be brought as a “male companion” to such an event.

Mokwen was established as a cavalry nation, rising rapidly during wars by seizing several iron and rare metal mines, although modern times had completely abandoned their rugged and unrestrained nomadic lifestyle compared to other ancient royal and noble families on the continent that had settled for hundreds of years.

Their aesthetic approach to life was still in the stage of believing that expensive and shiny meant sophisticated—how did that saying go? “A nouveau riche who would even inlay their toilets with gold if they could.” This was the Duke of Brandenburg’s exact words, and it was also one of the reasons he wasn’t close to his brother-in-law.

Distrust was one reason. He also felt that this nouveau-riche temperament couldn’t be remedied within three generations. Only through his sister’s efforts, perhaps proper education of the next generation might redeem them a little—just a little.

Perhaps because of Mokwen’s rich yet not too sophisticated environment, both men and women in the country had an unusual pursuit of “artistic temperament”, which naturally reflected in their preferences for the opposite sex.

This preference had opened the door for Shivers, who came from the fertile plains. He had merely concocted a tale of a down-and-out noble from a small country traveling in Doran, who just happened to qualify as a novelist and musician. Lady Holly immediately gave him a chance, although she had almost decided to bring a “distant relative” to the event. Lady Holly had been “sponsoring” that lovely young painter for some time but considered this: there were plenty of musical instruments in a high-society salon to charm the guests, but a painter couldn’t produce a magnificent piece on the spot—even if they could, music sounded more romantic.

“‘Musician,'” Eugene muttered, turning to ask. “Do you play an instrument?”

The Knight Commander sat in the carriage with a discreet smile.

Eugene sensibly turned his head back. Nobles—especially those from wealthy regions like Lemena, whether in talent or that meticulously poor posture—weren’t something a kingdom like Mokwen could compare with. The Knight Commander ignored Eugene’s subtle jealousy. His focus was always on the core of the issue.

“It’s odd for a high-ranking member of the ‘Fox’ to appear at such an event,” Shivers said. “Miss Martina’s clearance isn’t enough to know which one has come to Mokwen. I have a feeling there’s some deceit involved.”

Although the Fox was a vast family, not everyone protected by this family was entitled to the Fox family name, including most middle and lower managers who could only say they belonged to the Fox but couldn’t claim the name. Even Eugene knew, only the direct blood relatives of the current family head were entitled to use that name—these individuals were the absolute rulers within this Black Gold Family, a principle that applied equally among the other Black Gold Families.

Thus, although the Fox family was renowned for their involvement in the trade of flesh and intelligence, nobody would be foolish enough to think that a person with the surname “Fox” needed to peddle flesh themselves to acquire anything. Below these apex members, there were plenty like ants—insignificant yet supporting the massive, heavy carriages moving forward, and Martina was among them.

According to the strict hierarchical system within the family, people like Martina might never have the privilege to see Cici with their own eyes. Therefore, if it was true as Martina said, with countless beauties under his command, a ‘Fox’ personally mixing into the kingdom’s circle of noblewomen as a male companion, the reasons behind it were worth scrutinizing.

Although his identity had changed, whether it was the party or the ladies, these were areas where the Knight Commander excelled, especially when he appropriately praised a lady who was clearly the center of the party with his “poetic language”.

Soon, many gathered around him like ants around sugar, each wanting to hear another sweet word from him. Lady Holly was pleased with this, first because the occasion was meant to show off wealth, and nothing pleased her more than the envious glances of other women. Second, no matter how many people took the opportunity to touch Green’s pectorals while chatting, he would still ride the carriage back to his own residence tonight, where she could request that he make up to her for the entire evening. Besides, this gentle lover, even surrounded by a whirlwind of powder, didn’t neglect her at all.

Shivers got Lady Holly a small piece of almond cake, naturally leading her away from the crowd to sit on a small sofa in a corner, where he politely and somewhat ruefully complained to her about the party being larger than he had anticipated. Although he tried his best to maintain manners, he soon couldn’t tell who was who, hoping he hadn’t embarrassed Lady Holly.

Lady Holly was delighted, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Everyone likes you. Even during the usual social season, it’s rare to gather so many people. I’m a bit confused myself—look at Lady Tomyles from the Tomyles family. Lord have mercy, I haven’t seen her in almost three years.”

Almost without needing much prompting from Shivers, Lady Holly began to chatter away, proving Martina’s connections to be very reliable. If anyone could be so familiar with the background gossip of Mokwen’s upper class and also be eager to talk, it was Lady Holly, who could even generally comment on the identities of the male companions brought by the ladies.

“That Countess…” Shivers skillfully steered her back to his line of thought. The Countess he mentioned was Donna, the only Countess of Mokwen and the hostess of tonight’s party. In a kingdom like Mokwen, which revered strength and was male-dominated, it was somewhat miraculous for Donna to have inherited a Countess title as a woman.

After all, most noble women’s status and titles were derived from their fathers or husbands. Plus, with her unique personal charm, Countess Donna held a high position in Mokwen’s circle of noblewomen.

She was over forty, unmarried and childless, said to be an arrangement with the royal family to ensure that the Countess’ honor would end with her. However, marriage and offspring might not be what she needed, as her esteemed social position and inexhaustible wealth were enough for her to squander a lifetime.

Such a gathering as tonight’s, described by those in the know as “debauched and unprecedented”, was also initiated by Countess Donna. But peculiarly, she had no companion by her side tonight.

Lady Holly, realizing what Shivers was asking, giggled. “Oh, maybe her cat hasn’t woken up yet?”

She heard on her first day back in the capital that Countess Donna had recently adopted a stunningly beautiful young man named Yitzfa, who apparently had a bit of a temper, so much so that even Countess Donna had to coddle him.

Shivers almost immediately confirmed that this Yitzfa was the Fox that Martina had mentioned. He hadn’t yet figured out how to approach Countess Donna subtly and reconfirm whether Yitzfa would attend tonight’s gathering when the ambiguous strings of the music suddenly slipped, as if someone had pulled the hand that was strumming the strings, causing the entire piece to stall momentarily.

But no one seemed to mind this. Facing the door, Lady Holly used her folding fan to partially cover her face, uttering a soft sigh. “Is that him? This is really…”

Her next words were lost in the fluffy feathers decorating her fan. Shivers turned his head and unsurprisingly saw a man entering the venue of tonight’s gathering—the warmly decorated conservatory arranged by Countess Donna, which she proudly considered a winter miracle.

She had lavishly expended a great deal of manpower and resources to maintain an appropriate temperature in this vast greenhouse year-round, planting various exotic and vibrant flowers. It was said that there were as many as fifteen gardeners solely dedicated to maintaining these delicate plants.

However, as beautiful as the flowers were, defying the rules of seasons with their riotous blooming, they seemed to dim somewhat the moment the man walked in. He was tall and slender. His skin was an ivory white rarely seen in Mokwen, more flawless than any of the women present, with features so finely crafted they seemed to be deliberated by a painter countless times, leaving no room for fault. His long eyelashes and straight nose gave him an androgynous look, somewhere between feminine and youthful, compelling one to pause at first glance.

Yet, what caught Shivers’s attention more were the man’s golden hair and large, round eyes. Although not completely similar, he had seen such features before on a boy who liked to wear dresses.

Shivers was probably the only one at the event not moved by the man’s appearance. In fact, he barely glanced before calmly placing the small porcelain plate with almond cake back on the table.

No mistake.

He was definitely the Fox he was looking for.

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 32

“Things really are a bit strange, aren’t they?” Columbus sat on an armchair, his short legs happily kicking up. “That dead woman must have used that flying box to enter and exit the palace, but who was she? The King’s mistress?”

Shivers frowned. “If that’s the case, why be so secretive?” In most marriages, which were formed for benefit, the so-called “love” of married noble men was often bestowed upon other women. Honestly, most Kings had several well-known mistresses, and the Queens didn’t really care about such things.

“That woman probably isn’t just any mistress. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be that hypnotic music box in the box.” Shivers frowned. “I guess it was to conceal the destination of the flying box or Tifa’s identity.”

“It’s hard to deduce the identity of the deceased with the clues we have. We can start elsewhere,” Charlie said calmly. “After all, a box that can carry people isn’t something you see every day.”

“Who cares who the dead person was? As long as she wasn’t killed by Priscilla, I have no interest in her,” Dwight said arrogantly. “Compared to—”

He cared more about the name Priscilla had blurted out in that situation…

Ceylon.

But he stopped himself, pretending he had never said a word.

“I just think the more clues we know about at the moment, the better, since we are quite passive right now. Besides, I don’t think the events in the palace have nothing to do with Miss Priscilla,” Charlie said, seemingly oblivious to the Duke’s stern gaze. “As far as I know, Queen Christine had a sincere love affair with the Earl before she married the King, but now—”

Earl Lestrop’s wife was Priscilla.

Just this past alone, one could imagine a lot.

“What do you want to do?” Dwight asked unhappily.

“Gather as many facts as possible.” Charlie suddenly smiled. “If I may say so, My Lord has indeed attracted some fine talent.”

Columbus bounced excitedly in his chair. “You mean Eugene! Is he coming back?”

“Probably not yet.” Charlie thought for a moment, looking at the Knight Commander. “He might need a little extra help.”

Shivers: “?”

The city of Syriacochi in the Mokwen Kingdom was undoubtedly the most prosperous, but just as the shadow always clung under the light, the flip side of fragrance and beauty also bred decadence, poverty, and hunger. The lower classes naturally kept away from the city center, but they were also an essential part of the city, like a black spider quietly weaving its web of life and spreading it year by year. Occasionally, unsuspecting insects would fly into it and often have its life snuffed out before it could react.

Only creatures that shun the light could survive in such a place.

Low and dense houses squeezed the narrow paths so tightly that one could hardly breathe. The city’s drainage system seemed to fail here. Long-standing water caused floors and walls to grow patchy mold, and occasional unknown plants sprouted, mostly twisted and wilted.

The residents here seemed to dislike the sunlight. They were either draped haphazardly in scarves and cloaks or kept their heads very low. Shivers tightened his coat and squinted, trying to discern the house numbers that almost blended in with the filthy walls.

13…16…56… Definitely not right.

The paths here could drive one mad. He turned around restlessly, trying his luck at the other end, but nearly stepped on an old woman beside him—the hunched woman was half his height with sparse, spiky hair. She screamed and fell on him, grabbing his calf.

Shivers almost kicked her reflexively but immediately suppressed the impulse. He grabbed the old woman’s arm, trying to help her stand, but she clung to him like a poisonous vine, still harshly scolding in a language he couldn’t understand. The noise buzzed on the cold, damp stone walls, nearly piercing his eardrums.

The Knight Commander had never encountered such a woman before. The older women he dealt with were the noblewomen’s housekeepers, who, even if icy and mean, were at least polite and never so unreasonably noisy. His character also didn’t allow him to be rough with women, and as he was hesitating, something flew through the air and hit the old woman’s back.

It was a sturdy loaf of coarse bread, which rolled on the ground a couple of times. The old woman immediately released his arm and dove to pick it up. Shivers looked up just in time to see a man nearly clinging to the wall, sliding past the old woman. He grabbed Shivers and whispered sharply, “Let’s go!”

The alley was so narrow that two men walking side by side seemed cramped. Shivers was led through twists and turns, quickly leaving that alley.

“E—Eugene?”

The man in a local linen jacket looked back and winked at him.

“Don’t talk,” he said in a low voice.

The Knight Commander had no choice but to follow him hurriedly along the slippery cobblestone path deeper into the area, where the house numbers seemed to have no logic. They stopped next to a low stone wall covered with grapevines.

Shivers noticed a hint of black iron behind the grape leaves, pulled it aside, and sure enough, a wobbly house number hung there.

Fallen Leaf Lane.

24.

“This is—” Shivers looked at Eugene, who glanced around and gently pushed open the wooden door beside the wall, but only opened it a crack, barely enough for the two of them to squeeze through sideways.

“This door is too old. It makes noise when opened, creating too much disturbance,” Eugene explained. “In this godforsaken place, it’s best we don’t wake anyone up… or anything.”

“Where is this?” Shivers found himself standing in a surprisingly small courtyard, with a gloomy two-story stone house silently sitting in front of them.

“Let’s talk inside,” Eugene urged him.

Shivers watched as Eugene, like returning to his own home, opened the door and entered a living room not much bigger than a stable—there was no foyer, no fireplace, and every visible space was cluttered with things like umbrellas, pipes, men’s boots, and wicker travel trunks, all haphazardly piled against the walls, covered in dust and in disrepair.

“Martina’s house,” Eugene pulled over a somewhat wobbly willow chair for him to sit. “It was quite an effort to—”

“Who is Martina?” Shivers asked.

Martina was a prostitute.

In her youth, she had been quite glamorous—at that time, she could even afford to hire two maids to serve her, never getting up before three in the afternoon, with a carriage waiting at her door at five to take her to the theater. But the lavish lifestyle obviously didn’t last long. Otherwise, she wouldn’t now be living in a cold stone building on Fallen Leaf Lane, where even streetlights were absent.

However, Martina didn’t consider her life miserable. After all, most prostitutes in Syriacochi didn’t even have their own rooms, let alone their own houses.

“Eugene told me his friend was a handsome man. I thought he was deceiving me.” Martina came down the stairs, her eyes lighting up when she saw Shivers.

“I never lie,” Eugene said with a grin.

Martina rolled her eyes at him and brushed her hair back.

Shivers stood up and bent down to kiss the back of her hand.

Martina giggled uncontrollably, looking at him with affection.

“I’m Martina. Usually men come here for this name.” Her gaze traveled around the tall Knight Commander. “But you’re here for a ‘Fox’.”

Shivers glanced at Eugene and said nothing.

Eugene nodded. “We need to inquire about something, and the renowned information family on the continent is the best choice.”

Martina nodded. “The Fox family’s ‘web’ in the Doran continent isn’t very extensive, but it’s sufficient. You’re in luck. There’s a ‘Fox’ here in Syriacochi right now.”

Shivers immediately thought of the pretty child, Cici, they met in Pennigra. But it was unlikely. Cici was still a child, and Doran wasn’t a stronghold of the Fox family. The Black Gold family wouldn’t let such a young, important member stray far from their protection.

Thinking this, the Knight Commander sighed internally. If it were Cici, it would be easy. Dealing with an adult and astute ‘Fox’, the Duke might not know what price he’d have to pay to get satisfactory information.

“How can we meet them?” Eugene asked.

Martina looked at Shivers again, hesitating. “Maybe you don’t need to meet them. The Fox’s information classification system is very strict. You could first try finding the manager of Syriacochi. His decryption authority should suffice for most guests’ needs.”

“Our issue is a bit complex,” Shivers said gently.

“Alright.” If it were Eugene, Martina might have hesitated a bit longer, but Shivers’s innate noble demeanor and his gentle, yet firm attitude made her realize that haggling would only waste time.

“If you insist, then I know of a dinner happening soon. You might try there.” Martina compromised.

Eugene interjected, “There’s a dinner every night here in Syriacochi.” Nobles were always both the busiest and the idlest people. In Pennigra, there was a joke that if you put two nobles of different surnames together, the excuses for gatherings they came up with could fill a whole tablecloth. The royal city was the same. Although it wasn’t the social season, since they gathered for the King’s birthday, the large and small nobles wouldn’t be satisfied with just palace banquets. In fact, influential nobles might receive several invitations from different circles on the same day.

“We’re foreigners.” Shivers also raised a concern. “It might not be easy to blend into the local nobility circles.”

To enter any high-class social circle, having money and power were the most basic conditions, but most importantly, one needed a guide. Simply put, if the person introducing you had enough clout, even if you plucked a girl from a rural sheep pen and dressed her up as a politically persecuted princess from an obscure country for a few rounds, by the next year she might become a socialite sought after by young nobles—this was the theory, though due to superstitions about bloodlines and arrogance, no respectable noble would actually do this.

“Oh, no, this dinner is quite special.” Martina giggled again. “No invitation is needed. Just make sure this gentleman,” she looked straight at Shivers, “dresses up nicely.”

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The author has something to say:

The Knight Commander is going to be busy.

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