Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 26

Clang!

An unexpected scraping sound interrupted the performance of the instrument. The lyrist sitting on the cushion screamed as her lyre was knocked to the ground. Her composed expression twisted as she jumped up in place, utterly lacking in decorum.

Whether on the dance floor or on the sofas, everyone’s attention was drawn to the corner of the disturbance, all bewildered. But soon, another scream erupted—from beneath the pile of exquisite cushions, two frantic rats emerged.

“Rats! How can there be rats?”

“Ah—my dress!”

“Tristina, don’t… oh!”

“My God! What just ran past?!”

The sudden appearance of the rats caused a flurry of screams wherever they went, for their speed was too much for the pampered nobles to avoid. In their panic, many even blocked the rats’ path, nearly dying of fright. Within minutes, a couple of frail ladies had fainted.

A mass panic began to spread uncontrollably—while it was understood that rats were pervasive, even infiltrating palace kitchens, the nobility attending a royal ball would likely never step foot in a kitchen, nor would they know the effort servants made daily to keep such unsightly creatures out of sight.

Ladies in opulent dresses hoisted their skirts, unconcerned about exposing their undergarments, all to furiously stomp and distance themselves from the center of the chaos. The hall’s bright lights also stressed the nocturnal rodents, who scurried aimlessly, occasionally scurrying over polished shoes, triggering even louder screams and roars—this was a time when gentlemen could have drawn their swords to combat the small beasts and rescue the terrified ladies, but this was a banquet, not an arena, and the decorative sheaths beneath their clothing were, in reality, empty of any actual blade.

Frantic servants rushed in with brooms, trying to catch the disruptive rats. Who knows how many times they had cleaned the hall! All the tablecloths and curtains were new; no place could be cleaner than here, yet these rats seemed to appear as if by magic.

As people shoved each other, the well-dressed ladies became quite disheveled—a tall count quickly stopped his wife from being pushed over by a clumsy servant and swiftly led her away from the dance floor. Her skirt was inexplicably stained with wine, the beautiful and dreamy sky blue satin spreading into a purple blotch.

“I’m going back to change clothes.” The Countess clutched to her husband, who was gently patting her chest.

“His Majesty won’t come tonight,” the Count said solemnly. “You don’t need to come back.”

“But…” She looked anxiously back towards the dance floor, where the guards had mostly driven out the rats and the crowd were settling down.

“It’s alright.” The Count gently gathered her loosened hair at her cheek and personally escorted her to the banquet hall door.

The Countess looked up at her husband with a sweet, innocent smile.

“I’ll wait for you.”

The Count smiled back. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be with His Majesty tonight. I’d rather my wife rest a bit more.”

The Countess nodded and left with the help of her maids.

From any angle, the Count was an exceptional husband.

Noble, wealthy, majestic, mature, attentive, and considerate.

In this setting, he even considered that dressing and undressing a noblewoman’s gown was very time-consuming, and having his wife rush back after changing would only waste time and energy.

One could hardly find any flaws in him.

Almost.

The Countess maintained her impeccable, gracious expression until the last second.

As soon as the maids had unlaced her corset, changed her into regular clothes, and left the room respectfully, the mask she had maintained all evening finally fell.

She waited quietly for ten minutes until there was no sound outside the door. Then, the young Countess, wearing soft-soled shoes, quietly opened the door and slipped into the corridor.

She wasn’t familiar with the layout of the palace, but her excellent memory allowed her to recall the floor plan she had seen just once. She hurried through the corridors as quickly and silently as possible, thankful that most people were focused on the evening’s festivities and many guards were redeployed there. Apart from a couple of passing maids, she encountered no obstacles.

Due to her high status, her accommodation in the palace wasn’t far from her destination. After dangerously avoiding two patrols of guards, she finally reached a broad corridor with a large room at the end. The door was closed and unguarded—suggesting it was unoccupied.

Her heart was pounding so hard it almost jumped out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths before approaching the door. Just as she reached out to grab the doorknob, a pair of hands suddenly emerged silently from behind, clamping over her mouth!

The Countess almost fainted from shock at that moment, completely forgetting to struggle, letting the person behind her half-carry and half-drag her into the room next to the large one on the left.

Who would dare abduct the Countess in the palace? Just as this thought flashed through her mind, she heard a woman’s voice from outside the door that wasn’t fully closed.

“Get out!”

Although she heard only two words, the Countess immediately recognized the speaker as the current Queen, Christine.

The Queen?

The Countess looked toward the unsecured door, thinking if she could signal somehow—

“Shh.” The man holding her seemed to sense her thoughts, lowering his head close to her ear.

The Countess’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s me, sister.”

The hand that had been tightly covering her mouth finally loosened, and the Countess trembled all over, hardly daring to turn around.

“How can this be…” she barely managed to utter, tears uncontrollably falling from her eyes, but she was utterly unaware of them.

The young Duke placed his hand on her slender shoulder and gently turned her around.

Though they had been apart for years, the young man’s eyes, inherited from their mother, remained exactly as they had appeared in her dreams. His excessively pale skin and undeniable beauty were unmatched by anyone she had seen since leaving her homeland.

The Countess’s eyelashes trembled. “How are you…”

“I was worried about you, Priscilla.” Dwight’s expression was far colder than his sister’s, but if Eugene and the others were present, they would be shocked by his uncharacteristically gentle tone.

“I…” the Countess began but was immediately cut off by her brother.

The Duke gestured for her to be aware of the outside.

He had intentionally not closed the room’s door completely, and now a thin crack made it easy for passersby to overlook.

They heard Queen Christine scold her maids, ordering them to leave, then she entered the corridor alone.

Priscilla approached the door crack, only catching a glimpse of a skirt flitting by before the Queen entered a large room at the end of the hallway.

“Is that Tifa’s room?” Dwight whispered.

Priscilla hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

The Duke didn’t ask why she had gone to the King’s room alone earlier, but the Countess knew her brother well—he didn’t need to voice his concerns for them to be pressing on his mind.

She should explain, but she hadn’t prepared a convincing excuse. In front of Duke Dwight, anything less than the stark truth would seem like a joke.

However, Dwight didn’t pressure her.

“I’m not here to dictate how you live your life,” the young Duke said. “I just wanted to see you.”

His words softened Priscilla’s heart, but years of etiquette training and sharp political instincts made her immediately conceal her vulnerability, lifting her chin slightly.

In a matter of seconds, she transformed from a lonely, married-away young woman, shocked to see a loved one, back into Priscilla, the reserved, self-controlled noblewoman who hid the grief of her parents’ deaths in her room.

“I didn’t hear you were coming,” she said, looking at Dwight and slowly frowning. “That shouldn’t be…”

Given Duke Dwight’s status, had he come through official channels, not just the royal palace of Mokwen but Priscilla herself should have been informed upon his entry into the continent of Doran.

Her ignorance meant only one thing.

“How did you get here?” Priscilla’s expression changed. “Where are the papers? The knights? What about Shivers?”

By the time she mentioned the last question, her voice had risen uncontrollably.

“I came privately,” the Duke admitted calmly.

“You? You! Whatever your reasons!” Priscilla’s chest heaved dramatically. “You are the head of the Dwight family! How can you disregard your own safety—”

“I’ve grown up, sister,” Dwight said patiently. “I’ll be fine.”

Priscilla glared at him, closing her mouth.

This was as angry as she ever appeared, always so gentle by nature.

Dwight continued, “I’m not here to see him. I came for this.”

He took out a black velvet box. Despite being away from soil and sunlight and after all this time, the rose inside hadn’t wilted, though it had deteriorated somewhat since the last time the rabbit-headed shopkeeper saw it.

The box’s magic, crafted by elves, kept the rose alive, closely linked to the distant lands of Lemena.

Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand.

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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 25

Infiltrating the palace.

Actually, this task wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.

On any continent, the extravagant and vain behavior of the nobility was universal, which led them to employ many inexplicably large amounts of manpower and resources when they gathered.

Dwight had seen with his own eyes a noblewoman who wore a dress to a court ball that required four maids to drag its train—it was at least twenty feet long. Additionally, two other maids had to watch the people around her to prevent them from stepping on the lavish train as the lady turned.

Mokwen’s current king, Tifa, undoubtedly excelled in this pomp; he had people polish the palace ornaments and lay sod and trim hedges two months in advance. He also unnecessarily decorated the fig trees along the main street leading to the palace with colorful metalwork.

Of course, these magnificent decorations set in public places often mysteriously disappeared during the unguarded nights, forcing the officials in charge of external palace decor to exhaust themselves filling in the gaps. Even additional night guards proved ineffective—but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that from two months ago, all sorts of craftsmen and servants had been coming and going from the Mokwen palace. Even the best guards couldn’t possibly keep an eye on every unfamiliar face all the time.

They also disdained remembering the faces of common folk.

For anyone working in the palace, remembering the faces of nobility that one couldn’t afford to offend, under the right circumstances, was a demonstration of capability.

Clerk Lopez was one such capable person.

From a young age, his photographic memory made him stand out among his father’s numerous illegitimate children. Not only was he exceptionally recommended to the Senate as a junior recorder, but he also got many unexpected opportunities.

Like standing at the palace gate to welcome each noble who didn’t reside permanently in the capital during the king’s birthday celebrations.

Although it was a rather respectable job, standing at the palace gate to welcome nobles for several consecutive days was indeed exhausting.

Lopez tried not to think about his swollen, painful feet and made an effort to appear energetic as carriages drove through the gates.

“My Lord,” Lopez greeted as a servant laid down a footstool. “His Majesty the Wise said that his arms would return at the first light of dawn, and he sent me here—”

Perhaps his bow was too perfect. Before he could finish speaking, his glasses, which should have been securely on his nose, slid off suddenly and fell under the carriage.

Silence ensued. The ceremony officer standing guard with him, who was nearly blind, had no idea what had happened. Lopez froze, forgetting even to straighten up.

It felt like half a century passed before a gentle female voice said, “I haven’t seen glasses of that color before. Is it the latest fashion in the capital?”

Lopez snapped back to reality and quickly said, “Some craftsmen from the east came with a type of light tea-colored glass. They say it’s clearer than ordinary glasses.”

“Your eyes are beautiful. I wouldn’t want them to be obscured by anything,” came the voice from above Lopez, seemingly indifferent.

“I’m just asking. I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed in front of other ladies at the dinner…” As the woman spoke, she passed by Lopez and entered the palace gate with the count, followed by servants hurrying behind.

Lopez straightened up, knowing he had made a mistake. If the noble pursued the issue, he might end up building walls the next day.

But the young lady beside him, who had no need to, still spoke up for him.

What a gentle and understanding lady…

Lopez dared to look back but saw only the broad back of a tall man disappearing around the corner, accompanied by a swath of light golden hair.

With ten days until the king’s birthday, the arriving nobles had already lit up the great houses of the capital. Invitations to upper-class social dinners were being distributed relentlessly to all influential nobles, and madams and ladies were painstakingly preparing their gowns and jewels. Gentlemen were discreetly exchanging various pieces of information and rumors. Daily gossip filled all pages of the tabloids… It was as if the social season had arrived early.

But not everyone was enthusiastic about this.

“My Lady, you don’t look very well.” A lady with a very low-cut neckline, which fully displayed a complex and beautiful opal necklace, looked concernedly at the woman beside her. “Is it too stuffy here?”

The woman, who had been absentmindedly staring at the candlelight on the table, came to her senses and smiled, shaking her head. “It’s a bit colder here than in the south, but I’m not so delicate. I just saw the branches of the laurel tree outside moving. The wind tonight is quite strong.”

A few exquisitely made-up women were silent for a moment, then all chuckled in unison, as if they were in a perfume-filled henhouse.

“I don’t think it’s the wind, but someone trying to check their petticoat under the cover of the laurel.” A woman with a high hair bun casually stroked the lace on her skirt. “As far as I know, half the men in the royal city are at Viscount Mori’s tonight, so who could be outside?”

“Oh dear. I wouldn’t know, but I did notice a handsome coachman earlier…” someone teased, dragging out the tone, but only got halfway through.

Half a sentence was enough. Whether it was ‘handsome’ or ‘coachman’ that hit these ladies’ funny bone, they all burst into laughter again.

The garden of the banquet had always been a traditionally agreed place for secret affairs. After the laughter, the topic quickly turned to news of several mages entering the palace.

“It’s not entirely mages. At least three young men are apprentices.” A lady who lived in the capital lowered her voice. “And I heard… they didn’t come for His Majesty’s birthday celebration.”

Her dramatically lowered voice indeed caught the attention of those around her, bringing the gossip circle closer together.

“Strange things have been happening in the palace,” the lady said, covering half her face with her fan. “His Majesty is using the excuse of his birthday to have some mages investigate thoroughly.”

“Lady Mary, what kind of strange things could be happening in the palace?” the lady revealing much of her chest asked dismissively.

Lady Mary lifted her fan slightly. “There are rumors that the king has a new mistress.”

The atmosphere suddenly cooled.

Amid the music and laughter, the sudden silence in their little corner went unnoticed by others.

The young lady, who had been daydreaming, softly spoke up. “Her Majesty the Queen’s beauty makes even the stars in the sky shy away from shining. I believe there must be some misunderstanding.”

Everyone knew this was just polite flattery. There was only one queen, but the king’s number of mistresses had always been limitless. If anything, several of those in this cozy sofa group by the wall had had their flirtations with the king—hardly novel gossip.

The lady’s aim was merely to break the silence, and her bright eyes turned to Lady Mary, clearly waiting for her to continue.

Lady Mary seemed slightly annoyed by the lack of encouragement, but if she were wise, she wouldn’t discuss the king’s private matters openly at such a gathering.

Still, she couldn’t help but retort, “I am a cousin of Her Majesty. Would I speak without confirmation? It’s normal to have one or two mistresses, but what’s odd is that no one knows where these women come from—His Majesty’s bedroom often has unfamiliar long hairs and different scents of perfume, yet even the servants who sleep by the king’s bedroom door haven’t noticed anyone who could have been with the king. Even though there are guards in every corridor at night, no one has seen anyone enter the king’s room. Yet, during the quiet of the night, sounds of playful joy can be heard.”

“The queen has investigated all the maids in the palace, but to no avail. There are no outsiders entering the palace, yet unusual traces are often found in the king’s bedroom. It’s almost like…”

It was almost as if an invisible specter, taking the form of a seductive woman, slipped through the king’s window in the moonlight, disappearing at the first light of dawn.

Royal affairs of the heart could only be discussed ambiguously in dimly lit salon corners. Thanks to the strong-willed Lady Mary, a little prodding was all it took for her to unwittingly provide more details.

For instance, the king’s bedroom actually had a secret compartment behind the bed, covered with light green wallpaper painted with ivy in gold paint. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but a careful touch could reveal the subtle texture that was the switch for the secret compartment. Those emerging from it could easily lift the king’s bed curtains.

Another detail was that the compartment was only the size of a standard closet, the only piece of furniture being a handmade cashmere carpet from Minicia—ensuring silence when walked upon. Another exit led to a hidden staircase, known to no more than three people in the entire palace…

Although the entire palace was decked out in festive decor, the old and quiet tower on the west side of the palace remained grim and dilapidated even after its moss was scrubbed away and new candles were placed. She ascended the slightly damp steps, fine moss, as delicate as down feathers, stubbornly emerging from the square stone wall cracks, seeming to glow green in the dim air.

The area was deserted, silent as the earth before dawn. She couldn’t hear her own footsteps, but her heart throbbed relentlessly, stimulating her brain.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight… She counted her steps carefully, making sure not to sway the lantern in her hand. Noblewomen surrounded by jeweled satin rarely had to walk or climb like this, and before long, she felt her corset squeezing her organs. She paused to let a wave of dizziness pass and rested briefly before continuing upwards.

One hundred and sixty-four.

A turning point appeared on the stone steps, along with an undecorated pine door.

She stopped and listened intently for a while, but silence prevailed. She then pushed open the pine door, and a wave of warm air and fragrance from inside briefly relaxed her tense facial expression.

Behind the pine door indeed lay a small room, and there truly lay a large Minicia handmade carpet, luxurious in pattern and color, a rarity even in the empire.

The only difference from the rumors was that besides the carpet, there was a wooden box in the room, beautifully carved but unlocked.

She set the lantern on the floor and gently touched the box, barely exerting force when the lid lifted slightly.

A low, melodious sound of a Soltrey lyre flowed from within.

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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 24

The situation started that night two days ago, which was why Eugene, still haunted by what happened, was instinctively drawn to the content loudly read by the newsboy on the street.

“The shopkeeper wanted to avoid going out during the day and asked me to gather information after sunset, but two days ago, I encountered something he hoped to understand from another angle. So I rushed to get the first batch of newspapers printed this morning…” Eugene held the tea cup with both hands, the tea inside already cold.

Finally, surrendering his dignity, Dwight left his room and sat on the only armchair in the room, legs crossed with an air of authority. “‘That incident’?”

Shivers handed the freshly ironed newspaper to the Duke, who skimmed it quickly, throwing it aside afterward, and looked expectantly at Eugene, signaling him to continue.

Eugene took a deep breath.

“I saw it,” he said. “I saw the process of the woman’s death that was written about in the newspaper.”

Strictly speaking, he didn’t “see” it fully, but he was involved to some extent in the murder case that had spread throughout the streets and alleys.

At the time, Eugene had left the small tavern in the chill of midnight, chasing after the kid who stole his wallet, completely unprepared to stumble upon a murder in the dark alley infested with vermin.

When it happened, Eugene and the kid were in a delicate position, close enough to almost hear the murderers’ vague conversations, yet hidden from their view, even in the light of their lanterns, where Eugene could see their shadows cast on the wall across from him.

The pickpocket, thinking himself worldly, was just a naive kid who nearly bolted out upon smelling a hint of blood, thinking his dog was harmed. So Eugene had to firmly grasp him—he had spent most of his life dealing with schemes and dangers, and the reason he could still sit and drink tea unharmed was his acute sense of crisis, which was better than anyone else’s.

Almost instantly, he realized the sticky stench in the air couldn’t possibly come from a dog. If the smell was this horrifying, the victim was undoubtedly human and beyond saving.

His judgment proved correct. The nauseating smell of blood grew thicker by the minute, as if solidifying in the stagnant air, accompanied by coarse whispers. Without making any significant movements or casting shadows, Eugene silently leaned against the wall, his heart racing, feeling the kid he held trembling.

He couldn’t make out the whispers clearly, but they differed from the local dialect, spoken quickly and abruptly, more akin to the northern highland style. Just by those muffled, grumbling conversations, he could visualize at least two burly men standing there, ready to snap the neck of even a passing crow if spotted.

For nearly an hour, the two real bystanders stood against the wall until they were certain the people beyond wouldn’t return. Only then did Eugene release the kid’s hand.

Then he did the second right thing.

He stopped the kid who wanted to circle around to see what had happened, commanding him in harsh tones to wait there while he cautiously peered out himself.

Even years later, after countless brushes with death and personal experiences on battlefields, the memory of what Eugene saw in that alley would involuntarily make him shudder.

It wasn’t the fear of the disfigured limbs or unrecognizable face, visible even in the darkness, nor the chunks of flesh, blood, and unknown organs scattered around. It was the terror, shock, and tragedy of the scene.

It wasn’t the result of a fight or a swift murder, but a thorough, torturous, human-made hell.

The Duke, after hearing Eugene’s account, slowly said, “So, a woman was killed in an alley. And Charlie wanted you to tell me specifically, hoping we could report this atrocity to the city guard?”

In Doran’s current state of royal conflicts, countless lives were claimed under various circumstances, and as stowaways, they were powerless to do anything for the woman.

The Duke’s reaction was entirely within the shopkeeper’s expectations.

Eugene struggled to delve back into the memories of that horrific night, forced to relive the distressing recollections whenever he closed his eyes.

“That woman’s abdomen was cut open,” Eugene added. “I thought the murderers took pleasure in torturing her, but the shopkeeper suspects they might have had other motives.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Given the mess… ‘they’ seemed almost to be searching for something inside the woman’s body.”

A woman’s abdomen split open.

Unless she had swallowed something not meant for her, what else could be hidden inside a human’s body cavity?

Only an unborn life—also a human.

Shivers frowned deeply, and Columbus was stunned. Reading about a murder in the newspaper was different from hearing a witness account. Eugene’s description made his hair stand on end—if he had any.

Before the Duke could ponder further, Eugene added, “There’s another problem.”

All eyes in the room turned to him. Columbus sat tensely on his armchair, leaning forward with anticipation.

“The accent of those speaking was quite distinctive.” Eugene paused, then uttered a phrase in a somewhat awkward manner.

His life of constant turmoil had honed many practical skills in him, and learning dialects was the best and fastest way to blend into the local underclass. Eugene had a bit of a knack for it. He could roughly mimic any language he had heard—not by truly learning it immediately, but by mimicking its intonation, speed, and phrase breaks to achieve a sound that, at first listen, was very similar.

Hearing this accent, the faces of Dwight and Shivers almost changed at the same time. The Duke seemed thoughtful, while the Knight Commander’s expression turned cold.

“It’s the Lion’s men,” Shivers said with some disgust.

Columbus: “??? What, what?”

But no one paid him any attention.

Dwight said, “Where is that rabbit head? Have him come see me.”

Eugene was almost impressed by Charlie’s masterful planning. He had almost guessed the Duke’s reaction perfectly!

“The shopkeeper told me to give this to you if I found you.” Eugene struggled to pull a tightly rolled tube of paper from the innermost pocket of his coat.

“What’s this?” Shivers took it, puzzled.

“If you’re caught with this, you’d be beheaded immediately.” Eugene immediately recalled what the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said when he handed this to him—the terrible thing was the other person’s expression was extremely solemn.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said dejectedly. He had never dared to open it.

Back on his old turf in Dogus, who hadn’t heard of “Eugene the Dirk“? He considered himself a seasoned tough character, having briefly mingled in the underworld and then turned into a freewheeling thief, familiar with plenty of double-dealing and danger. But compared to engaging in fierce battles, the way Duke Dwight and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper dealt with murder and death threats—with an air of casual seriousness, but clearly not joking—was even more terrifying to him.

Had he unwittingly boarded a tremendously dangerous ship?

Lately, Eugene couldn’t help thinking this.

Shivers unrolled the cylinder. The ink was bent, and before it was fully unfolded, anyone could see it was a hand-drawn map.

“This is…” Shivers said incredulously, “A map of the palace? Where did he get this?”

Dwight scanned it quickly. The map’s succinct strokes outlined all the entrances, exits, rooms, and courtyards of the palace—a military-grade map if there ever was one.

In a small room in the northwest corner of the palace, a particular pattern was drawn with red ink. It was tiny, but its simplicity made the contours of the long ears and high-top hat easily recognizable.

The message was clear: I’ll be waiting for you here.

The young Duke’s face showed no emotion, but his mind was in turmoil.

He knows my plan.

He knows if Priscilla comes to the capital with her husband, I plan to infiltrate King Tifa’s palace to find her.

While logically this was the most efficient approach, and it wasn’t surprising that Charlie could guess this, the Duke still felt uncomfortable about the other calculating his behavior patterns.

This was already quite a mild thought. At this time, those in power cherished being seen as dignified and inscrutable, especially influential nobles, who rarely showed their true characteristics, lest their opponents deduce their styles of action.

But oddly, the Duke’s primary concern wasn’t that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had presumed to deduce his actions. What bothered him more was that the rabbit seemed to have been observing and understanding him all along. Conversely, for the Duke, Charlie remained much of a mystery, with each of his actions often puzzling.

Being studied and analyzed was upsetting to the Duke, although he couldn’t pinpoint the source of this irritation.

---

The author has something to say:

Indeed, Eugene lacked the Duke’s noble birth and the shopkeeper’s worldly experience, but even the little guys have their strengths and can improve.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 23

Geoffrey knelt on the icy cobblestone street, coughing so hard that his little face was contorted. When he saw a pair of feet stop in front of him, he looked up pitifully.

“Sir,” he gasped, “did I disturb you…?”

“Are you alright?” The foreigner helped him up and even patted off the dirt on his body.

“I’m just very hungry,” Geoffrey said timidly.

“Are you hungry?” The foreigner’s brown eyes showed a hint of distress.

Geoffrey almost couldn’t control his urge to laugh out loud, but the next moment he heard the other man say, “But the money you took from my purse should be enough to buy several loaves of bread, right?”

Geoffrey’s face changed color, realizing that his arm was firmly grasped in the other’s hand.

“I checked just now, and the purse isn’t on you,” the foreigner said casually. “Did you tie it to a dog?”

Geoffrey didn’t dare to look up. “Sir, what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it.” The man’s tone wasn’t harsh, but his words made Geoffrey tremble with fear. “Your little partner is so obedient. It must love you very much. If it doesn’t find you at the agreed-upon place, it will surely come looking for you, right? After all, a dog’s nose is very sensitive. You see, killing a person requires a bit of mental preparation, but killing a dog requires none at all. It’s still cold out. Have you heard how dog meat should be cooked to taste good? I might need to buy some mint…”

“No!” Being just a child under ten years old, Geoffrey quickly pleaded for mercy. “Please forgive me… I’ll return the things to you. Please forgive me!”

“I am not an unreasonable person,” the foreigner smiled. “You just shouldn’t have tried to rob me. When I was your age…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Geoffrey, firmly grasped by him, had no choice but to lead the man forward. The old district was like a decaying spider web. Just two streets in, and there were no more streetlights. If Geoffrey could escape for just five seconds and darted into any alley, given the complexity of the roads and the darkness, no one would find him again. But the man’s grip was tight, and Geoffrey found no opportunity. As they got closer to his hideout, Geoffrey deliberately slowed his steps, about to say something, when suddenly the man behind him pulled him back.

A grown man and a child stopped in the pitch-dark alley. Geoffrey was about to speak when his mouth was suddenly covered. Forced against the cold, damp wall, he instinctively tried to struggle, but found himself tightly restrained, unable to compete with an adult man. He could only allow himself to be half-carried, half-dragged forward—this almost combat-ready action came very suddenly, but Geoffrey almost immediately realized it was not directed at him.

Before they could leave the alley, he smelled something odd.

A faint, damp smell of blood mixed with the alcohol scent from the foreigner’s palm, both carried together by the night wind into his nose.

On a moonless night, ordinary human eyes could hardly see much without light, but other senses became surprisingly sensitive.

Like sound and smell.

Geoffrey heard some broken voices, almost sure they came from about thirty steps away in Willow Lane, just around the corner from his private base.

But this was strange because Willow Lane was a dead end, just a corner formed by neighboring uneven houses. It had a name because the previous officer wanted to solve the problem of drunks relieving themselves and residents dumping trash there. It was an aborted plan that now only left a row of exceedingly narrow awnings, and even in daylight, it was almost the darkest corner.

Who was there?

Geoffrey’s heart pounded wildly. The blood smell in front of them was clearly stronger than here, and as he strained to decipher what those people were saying, the foreigner suddenly pushed him into his coat, completely cutting off the already faint voices.

“Why can’t I go down?” Columbus sat by the window, desolately peering through the glass at the newsboys below. “There must be big news… Ah, is that Eugene?”

At a street corner, a newsboy was surrounded by a crowd of mostly well-dressed gentlemen and several servants buying newspapers for their masters. A man in a wool shawl loudly said to those around him, “When that woman was found, her belly was slit open—it could be a wild beast…”

“How could there be wild beasts in the city?” The man beside him couldn’t help but argue. “These days are not peaceful. We shouldn’t let women go out after dark.”

Eugene, his face half-covered with a scarf to discreetly mask his darker skin compared to the locals, managed to buy a newspaper successfully. But then, a stone, seemingly from nowhere, hit his headscarf hard enough to startle him.

He looked up and saw the familiar bright colors of the tin soldier through a window across the street.

“Can painted eyes see especially far?” Eugene grumbled hoarsely as he entered the building, impatiently unwrapping his headscarf and heaving a deep breath. “I thought a bird had landed on my ear…”

“Eugene!” The tin soldier who opened the door for him was exuberant. “It was me who spotted you! But the stone was thrown by Shivers!

The tall Knight Commander smiled and motioned for Columbus to close the door. “What’s the matter? Wandering the streets in broad daylight?”

Eugene sneaked a glance at the tightly closed bedroom door, thinking but not daring to say aloud, “The highly sought-after beauty isn’t me.”

Who knows which noble’s mind was heated by rumors. Since the Duke of Brandenburg entered the city, the inn had been subjected to soldier inspections twice. These days, it was difficult even for Dwight to step out of his room without concealing his face, much less think of leaving the city by any route, which only added to the Duke’s irritation.

“Eugene! Where’s Charlie?” Columbus circled Eugene as if the shopkeeper was hidden in Eugene’s coat.

“We’ve rented two rooms at ‘Full Moon’ in Dog Tail’s Alley,” Eugene quickly explained. “The shopkeeper asked me to wander around the city tonight, trying to keep a low profile as we get closer to the witch’s domain.”

Since arriving in Doran, Charlie had indeed toned down his usually flamboyant demeanor and rarely left the carriage—Columbus was the same. It seemed that no matter what was said, he was quite wary of Elena and didn’t want to expose himself prematurely.

To Eugene, however, staying confined to a room, with food delivered only to the door, seemed overly cautious.

But Eugene didn’t voice this thought either—somehow, despite the shopkeeper’s friendly demeanor, which was a stark contrast to the ever-critical and temperamental Duke, Eugene felt an inexplicable respect for him. When Charlie arranged tasks with a kindly but firm tone, Eugene followed without questioning.

Shivers, however, agreed with the shopkeeper’s approach. In fact, while the Duke of Brandenburg was confined to the inn, he and Eugene played roles in gathering information, though due to different backgrounds, their methods and locales varied significantly, as did the restrictions they faced.

But some information didn’t require deep integration into the crowds.

“Although the plans have deviated slightly from the original track, this trip isn’t without merit,” said the tall Knight Commander. “In fact, it was fortunate we passed through the capital, as everyone here is discussing how, from Cross Street to the royal palace, the area is beginning to be militarized in preparation for the arrival of dignitaries.”

Columbus added, “Because of the king’s birthday! All the nobles will come to the capital, bringing wines, gems, precious silks, and the finest dwarven crafts—this is King Tifa’s third birthday since his coronation, and I’ve heard the previous two were very, very lively.”

The little tin soldier, with his painted features, looked forward with anticipation as if he could already see the streets filled with flowers, the grand processions moving from Cross Street to the palace, and beautiful young women in their finest clothes singing and dancing, filling the air with the scents of noblewomen’s powders and exotic spices.

Eugene poured himself tea and finally settled into a high-backed wooden chair. “I heard about this too. That’s why the shopkeeper wanted me to find you quickly. If things go smoothly, we could save a lot of time and effort. He was worried you might get stuck in some corner, avoiding the soldier’s inspections.”

“A city guard doesn’t have that much power, although the innkeeper did face some questioning. But when it comes to control over the capital, no one can exceed the king,” Shivers said calmly. “As long as we act discreetly, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Actually, Dwight himself didn’t take the absurd “wanted” situation seriously. If it had been an order from the king himself, it might have posed a real problem, but as a city guard, especially during King Tifa’s birthday, the motives were transparent to the Duke and the Knight Commander.

“So, we’ll decide to stay in the capital for now,” Shivers declared. “Until—”

He paused, noticing that Eugene stiffened slightly at the mention of staying.

“…What’s wrong?” Shivers asked.

In the past, in Lemena, someone of Shivers’ status and position would never have crossed paths with a lowly thief like Eugene, let alone observed him so closely.

But since Eugene joined their journeying party, even though Duke Dwight routinely mocked him, the young lord mocked everyone, so in a way, he treated Eugene no differently than others, not as a slave or an inferior servant. Though uneducated, greedy, and vulgar, Eugene wasn’t entirely without merit; he was stubborn, loyal, and often a bit foolish—but overall, not a bad person.

Thus, Shivers unconsciously began to see Eugene as one of their own, perhaps without even realizing how much he had changed along the way.

Eugene hesitated for a moment.

The tin soldier also sensed something and ran up to him. “Eugene, what happened?”

“About this matter, the shopkeeper wanted me to explain it personally to the Duke.” Eugene lowered his head, hiding his expression under his unkempt, shaggy beard.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 22

The handsome Duke of Brandenburg was unaware of the increasingly wild rumors about him, but one thing he could be sure of was that his plan to “remain inconspicuous due to being understaffed” had utterly failed.

This could not be entirely attributed to the Duke’s misjudgment of the situation, but rather to the differences between the two continents being even greater than he had anticipated.

Centralized power in Pennigra was well-established, with occasional friction between kingdoms but no large-scale warfare.

Under complex circumstances, the various kingdoms of Doran, even in peaceful times, had stricter checks on population movement than expected.

Dwight had been very discreet throughout his journey, not caring much for pomp except for essentials, and he would cover himself completely with a cloak when leaving the carriage. No one expected that every gate in Syriacochi would have soldiers who thoroughly interrogated and registered visitors, and no masked entries were allowed to prevent spies from infiltrating. Once he had to reveal his face unwillingly, a young soldier was visibly stunned by his appearance, attracting the attention of his colleagues. Although he quickly pulled his hood back on and the shopkeeper and Shivers swiftly signed all documents, they could still see many curious onlookers squeezed towards the gate as their carriage passed through.

Dwight himself was surprised by the commotion his face could cause. As a noble heir born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he rarely appeared before the common folk. Even when surveying his domain, most wouldn’t dare look directly at him. As for the praises he had grown tired of hearing among the nobility since childhood, the Duke always thought they were somewhat exaggerated due to the flamboyant flattery typical of nobility. In other words, he knew he was good-looking, but he didn’t realize to what extent.

Seeing the situation turn chaotic upon entering the city, Shivers made a decisive call, leaving both carriages and most of their luggage with the shopkeeper. He and the fully armed Duke then left the group and blended into the bustling streets.

Around a dim gas lamp, insects continuously swirled, and several spiders hurried across the smoke-darkened wooden beams above. Below, a few burly men sat around a square table playing cards, their bodies emitting a strong smell of sweat, mixed with the perfume of two women leaning over to watch, and the scent of cheap malt beer, fried fish, and cheese in the air, enough to deter any remotely decent lady from stepping foot in this tavern.

But the other patrons seemed not to care, sitting in pairs or groups in corners, either whispering together or joining a gambling table. It wasn’t even eight in the evening yet; although it was already dark, many had just extinguished the forges or closed their barn doors and hurried out to find a place to pass the time.

A man in a drab cloak was also drawn to the rowdy gambling at the center of the tavern. His command of the common tongue was poor, but his card-playing skills were solid. He turned five copper coins into a significant win. The biggest blacksmith, Knytt, however, lost miserably tonight.

“Where are you from, stranger?” Knytt glared at the other’s shuffling hands, ready to catch even the slightest hint of cheating, swearing to himself that he’d twist this guy’s neck like wringing a chicken.

The stranger shrugged and named a place in his broken common language, which Knytt had never heard of.

“Ah, is it ‘Fornbey’?” A woman guessed based on his pronunciation. “I had an aunt married off there. It’s very, very far.”

The stranger nodded and smiled at her.

To be honest, this man looked young with a pair of brown eyes and a decent physique. Unlike the others, his beard wasn’t unkempt, and he didn’t have the sweat smell typical of Knytt and the others. He was rather lucky, having won quite a bit.

If he weren’t a foreigner, Tina would have been more eager to do business with him.

Unfortunately… Knytt and his group weren’t the type to be broad-minded.

He appeared to be a skilled card player and won another two rounds. More and more people gathered around the table, and a plump woman plopped down next to the foreigner, clinging to his arm. She was no longer young—at least five or six years older than Tina—and though heavily made-up, the fatigue at the corners of her eyes couldn’t be hidden by the dim light of the tavern.

“Tina, your rival’s here,” a man teased. “Martina, better go to bed early. Tina’s here tonight, and I see her nails are quite sharp!”

Tina flicked an eyelid but said nothing.

Martina might had been popular once, but a woman’s prime was both short and cruel. Now that Tina was there, who would spare Martina a second glance?

A few men who knew them chuckled.

This woman must be getting desperate, trying to seduce an unknown foreigner without even caring about his background. Ridiculous. When would she understand that this was no longer her place to stay?

Tina’s lips, brightly painted, twisted, and she gave Martina a scornful look, which was returned with equal defiance—Tina maliciously thought she should wait outside to see if she could catch a drunk by midnight.

Unexpectedly, the foreigner didn’t push Martina away but didn’t take the opportunity to embrace her either. His attention seemed entirely focused on the cards in his hands—he won again.

“It seems I have the Goddess of Victory by my side,” he said slowly.

Tina laughed heartily. “How are you so lucky? Are you cheating?”

The atmosphere froze for a moment but quickly returned to normal. The foreigner blinked, puzzled, as if he hadn’t understood Tina’s rapid speech.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” a particularly tall man said harshly, though his eyes stayed fixed on the foreigner.

Martina gave Tina a challenging look, feeling a bit anxious, but the foreigner beside her remained composed. He understood the phrase “Goddess of Victory”, indicating he didn’t mind her sitting there.

Unfortunately, the foreigner’s luck turned mixed in the next hour. Just when Knytt thought he would take all the money from the foreigner in one go, the foreigner stopped playing.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He took out all the money from his pockets, offering to buy all the men present a malt beer and the ladies a glass of wine, specifically requesting an extra helping of broth and bread for his ‘Goddess of Victory’ Martina.

Since he turned his pockets inside out quite honestly, everyone saw that the man really had no more money left—his clothes didn’t have any valuable accessories either, so they let him leave the gambling table graciously.

Martina seemed to like him and quietly asked if he wanted to go for a walk, but the man gestured towards the gambling table, indicating he wanted to continue watching.

Knytt seemed to have his luck returned by the foreigner and started winning money. The pub grew even more crowded, attracting stray dogs and what looked like a street child who, thanks to his small size, went unnoticed as he scurried under tables, hoping to pick up scraps of bread that had fallen to the floor.

But good luck often didn’t last long; soon enough, a lady screamed, loudly complaining about her skirt being dirtied. The muscular tavern owner came out from behind the bar with a thunderous expression, unceremoniously shoving both the people and dogs out, kicking them a few times for good measure. A skinny child seemed to have been kicked in the stomach, squatting outside the door coughing loudly, but no one in the tavern gave him a second glance, except for the penniless foreigner. He glanced at the child, seemingly with a bit of pity, and, with difficulty, stood up from his crowded seat to walk out.

Since his pockets were already empty, Knytt just glanced up at him and then returned his attention to the gambling table. Martina, however, pulled at his sleeve and whispered something about how those little brats were all faking it and not worth pitying. No one knew if the foreigner understood, but he left anyway.

Tina scoffed.

“Why don’t you lift your skirt and chase after him? After all, the bread he bought you could last a whole night, right?”

Martina’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped, “Mind your own business, Tina.”

“Oh, sorry, did I underestimate? Should it be three nights? After all, you’ve been depreciating badly since three years ago.”

The surrounding crowd burst into laughter, and Martina’s face turned red with fury, her ample chest heaving with each breath.

But she didn’t stand up to leave.

Normally, Tina wouldn’t bother targeting Martina, but tonight was different.

Tina couldn’t quite say what it was, but facing a clearly struggling Martina, the man didn’t show the same brazen mockery as Knytt and others. He even slightly defended her, a kind of respect for women that almost resembled the manners of higher society—but in some hidden corner, Tina was also annoyed that he hadn’t given her more attention and was so kind to Martina instead.

Women were such complex and contradictory creatures, but overall, Tina didn’t want this strange foreigner to die, so she gave him a hint when he kept winning. If he had continued to draw attention, then after he left the tavern alone, Knytt and the others would have silently dragged him into an alley, and only in the morning would the early water carrier discover another unrecognizable body in a corner of Syriacochi.

What a foolish man.

Tina thought, probably very young and too tender-hearted. But it was good he left early; getting tricked by those street urchins and scoundrels at least meant his life wasn’t in danger—everyone knew that every seemingly homeless child in Syriacochi might belong to a dirty gang of con artists, using their youthful appearance to commit crimes. But foreigners didn’t know that.

So these fools deserved to be duped.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 21

Despite his inherently haughty nature, Dwight was no fool. After securing adequate supplies in Mobley, he gave Columbus a delicate purse with a long strap, easy for the tin soldier to hang around his neck. Filled with clinking copper coins, Columbus was appointed as the treasurer, tasked with buying up every newspaper they came across on their journey, which Eugene was to iron before handing them over to the Duke for his perusal.

Eugene was highly dissatisfied with Columbus being given control of the finances and strongly demanded to hold the purse himself. As this was Columbus’s first official job, he naturally didn’t want to be stripped of his authority, leading to a noisy argument between the two on the carriage, causing Shivers to drive the horses at a faster pace to avoid their quarrel.

Charlie felt nearly bone-shaken by the carriage ride and couldn’t fathom how the young Duke could sit so upright after such a long and arduous journey, suspecting he might have a spine of steel.

“That thing around Columbus’s neck…” Charlie scratched his chin, noticing he was shedding a bit with the arrival of spring. “It’s a ladies’ handbag, isn’t it?”

Though it looked quite expensive, men’s handbags never had such long straps. He couldn’t believe he had managed to fool two unsophisticated fools into arguing over it for half the day.

Dwight, holding a soft leather notebook and writing with a dip pen, seemed not to have heard Charlie. His inkwell on the side table was uncovered, and it jolted with the carriage, almost sliding off the table sideways. Charlie quickly reached out and grabbed it.

“What are you writing?” He craned his neck to see.

Dwight snapped the notebook shut with a sharp “snap”, giving him a look.

It was a serious breach of etiquette among nobles to pry into someone’s private affairs, especially for a man, considered one of the top three faux pas in his education.

But the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s education evidently differed.

“What are you writing?” he asked again. “You looked so focused.”

…He could probably never expect this rabbit-headed shopkeeper to exhibit proper decorum, although, ironically, Charlie seemed quite the gentleman around women. Dwight thought sarcastically, watching him coldly.

“Excluding mid-journey resupply, it will take about five days to enter the territory of Mokwen. If we pass directly through the capital, it’s another two days to Lestrop’s lands. Avoiding the capital would add an extra two days but might save some unnecessary trouble.”

Charlie methodically screwed the inkwell cap back on and placed it on the compartment. Dwight noticed he was sitting too close—so close he could see the fluff on those long ears.

“We could enter the capital,” the Duke said after a moment. “Other than the Bataan war report, we haven’t encountered any organized strife along the way, indicating that right after the harsh winter, most of Doran is relatively stable, and the capital’s defenses won’t be overly tight. Besides—”

This was also why he had insisted on not having the Brandenburg Knights accompany him. If he had traveled with an entourage, even disguised as an unarmed trade group, few lords in war-prone Doran would open their gates. Lestrop was the younger brother of the king of Mokwen and would certainly have close ties with the capital. Visiting there first would be a good strategy for gathering information before marching into his domain.

“I, Shivers, a rabbit, a thief, and a talking toy,” the Duke said with his typical sarcastic tone. “We are a small group, unlikely to attract much attention or alarm.”

—

Mokwen’s capital, Syriacochi

Three in the evening.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“Ah, the city gate thing?”

“What? An elf has come?”

“I heard it’s a foreign princess disguised as a man.”

“No, it’s an elf! The boy named Lem from the second group reportedly fainted after just one look…”

“Fainted? Are elves that beautiful?”

“Elves are beautiful, yes, but aren’t they supposed to live in forests?”

“How beautiful can they be? I heard the clerk also fainted?”

“Where are they? Still at the city gate?”

Syriacochi’s city gate was abuzz with gossip, delaying the guards’ duties as the people queued outside the city exchanged anxious inquiries. Before evening fell, a rumor spread like ink on blotting paper. “A princess of the elves, so beautiful she outshines the stars, has come to the kingdom of Mokwen, sitting in her carriage clad in a dress made of various gems, the light of which pales in comparison to her unparalleled beauty.” This startled several lower-ranking officials at the city gates, each reporting up their chain of command.

The ever-strategic Duke was finally thrown off his game. He had to ditch the carriage and put on a cloak, pulling the collar high to blend into the crowded streets with Shivers and the tin soldier.

As the city’s defensive commander, Viscount William was having dinner, enjoying a roasted peacock, when his brother-in-law brought him the news. He was so startled to hear that an unprecedentedly beautiful elf had arrived incognito in Mokwen that he jumped up from his chair, his eyes whirling, as he subconsciously fiddled with the large gemstone rings on his plump fingers.

“Based on what you’re saying, Victor, where is this delicate woman now?”

“My Lord, the trouble is—after she passed the city gate, she disappeared,” Victor bent down and whispered softly. He was thin and tall, and his carefully trimmed mustache looked so symmetrical it was as if it had been measured with a ruler and trimmed.

“Ridiculous! A delicate woman has traveled all this way through dust and hardship, and you let her leave alone? If we had any decency, we should have offered her protection.” Viscount William couldn’t help standing up from his chair in indignation.

An elf—if it really was an elf, would indeed be sensational news, as elves had relocated to Pennigra, living secluded for nearly a hundred years. Even if not in seclusion, this species naturally stayed away from human settlements, being creatures of the forest. Only the innocent and pure-hearted children or maidens might occasionally glimpse these mysterious beings in remote areas. At least, Viscount William had never seen this mysterious race with his own eyes since he was born.

But none of this prevented people from knowing the elves’ exceptionally beautiful average appearance from various poems and paintings. Viscount William anxiously paced back and forth, frustrated at the guards who were such fools to let such a person slip through their fingers. Now that it was early spring, with many people coming and going each day, he had only a small force of city guards at his disposal. With many nobles in the royal city, if others heard of it first…

Victor looked at his overweight brother-in-law, who almost seemed to have “anxious” written all over his face. Suppressing his impatience, Victor stepped forward to advise, “My Lord, the elves’ beauty surpasses even the legends. Her arrival caused quite a stir, and many have already heard the rumors by now.”

“What should we do? What if those guys, Bree and Tim, find out…”

Victor grew impatient inside. So what about the beauty? Even if you were the first to encounter someone of such stunning appearance, could you really hide her away in your Viscount estate without anyone noticing? Elves were never a race to be manipulated by humans. Besides, regardless of her will, this wasn’t Viscount William’s territory, but the royal city of Mokwen. Forget His Majesty, even an Earl would demand you hand her over.

Victor thought his brother-in-law, whose brain seemed lodged in his crotch, really wasn’t suited for this kind of discussion. Unfortunately, Victor’s father was only a Baronet, a non-hereditary title with a declining family estate. If it weren’t for his having a beautiful daughter who fortuitously married the Viscount, the whole family would probably have fallen into oblivion within a decade.

Although his brother-in-law was lecherous and foolish, he was very wealthy and had a certain amount of influence in the army. Victor had obtained a decent military clerical position thanks to Viscount William. As long as he could squeeze into the upper circles, he wouldn’t have to worry about being granted a noble title. Until then, he had to make sure his only backer remained stable.

Victor tactfully said, “Sir, it has been many years since elves appeared among people. If that person really is an elf, such a rare individual would surely be someone His Majesty would want to meet. King Tifa is our wisest and most magnificent king. If the delicate elven lady has any requests, His Majesty would surely be able to assist. With the city abuzz, she might be frightened by the attention. If we can find her first and introduce her to His Majesty, she would surely be grateful to us.” Then the king would also be pleased and reward them.

With Victor’s reminder, William gradually calmed down from his agitated state. Although elves rarely appeared, their historical interactions with humans almost always involved direct conversations with the human high nobility. A mere Viscount trying to win over and subdue an elf was indeed unlikely, and the elf race wasn’t something William could afford to offend. Victor left out an important point: the current King Tifa was also known for his lasciviousness, having had countless mistresses from his princely days to the present, and if a beautiful woman really appeared, which noble in the city could supersede the king to win her?

If William could present the beauty to His Majesty, and if she was as beautiful as rumored, perhaps even the queen might end up wearing someone else’s crown. Since he couldn’t secure the beauty for himself, at least he could strive for title and power.

Resolved, William instructed Victor, “Gather everyone who has seen that woman and round up some men. We need to protect her before any criminals can.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 20

Lecia applied a mixture of honey and olive oil to her hair every night. This was a secret recipe taught by an old nurse from her hometown, which darkened her hair—not to a reddish-brown but to a golden hue.

At important occasions, her beautiful long hair always received many compliments—though noble lineage wasn’t distinguished by hair color, her sleek hair did indeed resemble that of noble ladies who could hardly lift a lace umbrella. However, tonight, the maid was preoccupied with playing marbles and forgot to prepare hot water for her, delaying her bath time significantly, which infuriated Lecia enough to scold her sharply and beat her several times. She was still very angry when she went to bed.

Perhaps due to her annoyance, Lecia had a restless sleep. In a state between sleep and wakefulness, she seemed to hear intermittent music, reminiscent of a rural folk song, nostalgic and familiar.

Lecia rarely dreamed about her childhood—her mother baking bread in the kitchen, she and her sister lying in bed, waiting for the scent of the bread to soothe their hungry bellies.

Lecia gradually fell asleep but soon woke up again. Uncomfortably, she moved and suddenly found she couldn’t stretch out her limbs—a definite anomaly since her bed was certainly spacious enough.

Opening her eyes, Lecia discovered she wasn’t in her bed but lying in a large box, curled up and wrapped in a soft blanket.

Was she dreaming? Lecia cautiously sat up, pushed open the lid of the box, and found it placed in a lavish bedroom, beside the foot of a large bed.

The bed was draped with expensive silk, smooth as water flowing down to the carpet, making one worry that one might accidentally slip off if they turned too much in their sleep. The exquisite canopy was embroidered with figs and laurel using gold thread, and the nightstand held beautiful fruits she had never seen before. The large windows were covered with long curtains, but the various gems embedded in the furniture still glittered brilliantly.

Climbing out of the box, Lecia saw an ivory-colored nightgown laid out on the bed, perfectly her size.

Realizing what had happened, Lecia understood that someone must secretly admire her, thus whisking her away under the cover of night for a clandestine rendezvous. Although she had many admirers, this novel and elaborate method of pursuit was new to her, and seeing the luxurious room, her suitor must be a high-ranking duke or king, which made her heart race.

As expected, after she donned the exquisite nightgown, all the lights in the room were blown out, and the voluptuous blonde lay on the bed, waiting in the darkness for her wealthy lover.

Everything proceeded in secret, and before dawn broke, Lecia crawled back into the large box, feeling extremely tired, though she wished to know which castle she had been brought to. But as the tinkling piano music started, she quickly fell asleep again.

Dwight was experiencing unprecedented sleep difficulties. He slightly lifted his chin. “I wouldn’t lie down on those sheets.”

“Your Lordship, if you continue to reject every inn we can find, I fear tonight we’ll have to sleep on straw in a corner,” Charlie said helplessly.

Shivers had probably grown accustomed to his master’s picky habits and casually led the carriage through the bustling central street of Mobley.

“I have reasonable suspicion there are lice in that inn’s sheets,” Dwight stated emphatically.

“You can’t say that just because the innkeeper doesn’t shave—”

“His beard surely has lice too,” Dwight declared disgustedly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper held his tongue.

To him, the Duke was simply not cut out for long travels. From the bumpy roads to the inn’s linens, he had never seen Dwight satisfied with anything along the way. Even the most distinguished queen couldn’t find as many faults. The problem wasn’t just his fussiness. He forced everyone else to indulge his caprices, exhausting everyone (except Columbus).

Shivers felt guilty about it.

“If the butler were here, it wouldn’t be like this,” the Knight Commander said. “He always has a way.” He faced thieves and assassins without fear, but such daily trivialities were his weak point. After all, in Lemena, there were always attendants to handle everything for him.

Eugene said, “I don’t understand. That last inn charged three silver coins a night—probably even the king himself would stay in such an expensive room. What exactly didn’t satisfy you, Your Lordship?”

In Pennigra, even at his most affluent, Eugene had never possessed more than a silver coin at one time. By the gods, a single silver coin could allow him to drink in a tavern for ten days!

Shivers said, “We must stay in the best places.”

Eugene thought for a moment. “Give me a silver coin, and I’ll make arrangements.”

Not wanting to spend the whole day searching for accommodations in the city, Shivers gave Eugene a silver coin, and off he went with the tin soldier to inquire around.

Though Eugene had never been to the Doran Continent, everyday life was generally similar everywhere. In less than half an hour, they returned and indeed led everyone to an inn with just thirteen rooms. It was a respectable stone mansion, with each room furnished with a bathroom and a fireplace. If not for Eugene leading the way, they would have mistaken it for the residence of some city official.

Reportedly, the inn was the property of a noble who loved traveling, initially reserved for family use. But after the noble’s death, his prodigal heirs gradually gambled away the estate, and this mansion was bought by a merchant who converted it into a grand inn, hosting balls and salons for merchants and impoverished nobles during the social season.

As an exclusive villa or royal palace, it wouldn’t be impressive, but as an inn, it was unusually luxurious—each room came with its own servant. When they decided to stay, the proprietor even gifted them a basket of handmade cookies and soaps.

Seeing the gift basket probably played a part in the Duke of Brandenburg not being overly picky. However, by nine in the evening, after everyone had washed up and sat down to dinner at the long table, he started questioning Eugene on how he found this particular inn.

Although the tin soldier didn’t eat, he sat happily in his chair and said, “We just bought a newspaper. Eugene gave the newsboy a brand-new tinder box, and he directed us here!”

So throughout dinner, the Duke read the newspaper without uttering another word.

Only after the last pudding was served did he put the newspaper down with an unreadable expression.

“What’s in the newspaper?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing much,” Dwight responded dryly. “Some ads and sensational cases, a jeweler’s mistress had a burglary at her home, someone died in some place called Wilken…”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper reached out for the newspaper, and both the tin soldier and Eugene crowded around. They couldn’t read, but their interest in salacious news seemed almost instinctual, and they eagerly asked the shopkeeper to read it aloud.

Dwight scoffed at their vulgar taste, but when Shivers asked the innkeeper to stoke the fire in the lobby and everyone gathered to listen to the newspaper, he didn’t isolate himself. Instead, he chose a corner away from everyone else to write letters.

This wasn’t a newspaper issued by Sapali of the central empire but a locally printed timesheet with coarse production quality. The date wasn’t the latest—probably because the newsboy, in gratitude for the new tinder box, had given Eugene all the copies he had.

Charlie briefly flipped through, reading some sensational headlines aloud, but the actual content wasn’t particularly provocative, just as Dwight had said. For instance, a high-class courtesan was found dead in her room, discovered only in the morning. However, Charlie did find an interesting piece of news: three small kingdoms in the east had started a war of attrition against a relatively wealthier opponent, but the well-fortified city had withstood a siege of a month without a clear outcome.

Shivers showed more interest in the war reports, meticulously reading every related article.

“Gongi, Lamia, Sessilia,” he mused. “I’ve never heard of these kingdoms before, but I recall the kingdom of Bataan being besieged.”

“Bataan has a famous fortress with cliffs on three sides and only a perilous entry,” Charlie noted. “The city has wells and sufficient farmland, likely a target for the neighboring lesser states needing to replenish their coffers this winter.”

Shivers took the newspaper and checked the date. “It seems they started the siege before the snow even melted.”

Columbus sat on the armrest of Shivers’s sofa, pleading for more news stories to be read out. Charlie glanced at the Duke, who was near the fireplace. From his angle, he could only see the long, slender ponytail of the other person’s light golden hair. He knew what he was looking for—there was nothing in the papers about the Mokwen kingdom, but he spent the duration of the dinner reading every detail due to their current lack of intelligence.

Compared to Pennigra, they knew too little about Doran, and a lack of intelligence could have unforeseen consequences if things didn’t go as planned. The title of Duke of Brandenburg was granted by the Modicon Empire of Pennigra, and though powerful on his home continent, in Doran, he was just a wealthy foreigner. The title of Duke only counted if one could set foot back on Pennigra soil.

Though not said aloud, both Shivers and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could sense the Duke’s restlessness. Even a stay in an inn with a four-legged bathtub couldn’t fully relax him. Yet, this stop wasn’t entirely fruitless. They learned that Doran’s chaotic situation inevitably caused disparities in information among parties, fostering a burgeoning network of unofficial intelligence. Aside from established agencies like the Fox’s, street corner rumormongers and vibrant local tabloids thrived, making them a valuable resource once sensational false news and rural gossip were filtered out.

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The author has something to say:

The fantastical element of Lecia’s flying box draws from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales “The Tinderbox” and “The Flying Trunk“.

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