Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 98

Amber and Shiloh were leaning over the ship’s railing, watching Hasting land steadily. A touch of awe and admiration appeared on their faces. Such childish expressions were rare for them, which surprised Shiloh, prompting him to nudge Amber.

“Pretty cool, right? Next time, let Hasting teach you archery,” Shiloh said. “His brother is the captain of our archery squad, a renowned marksman on the continent.” He was also a target the Empire’s military had tried to poach numerous times, causing the Duke to clash with the Emperor openly and secretly about it.

Shiloh had always been the youngest member of the Knights Order, often hanging out in the reserves in Lemena to assert his presence and act as the leader. Since leaving Pennigra, everyone could ruffle his curly hair, which frustrated him. So although he always acted noble and aloof around Amber, inside he was incredibly thrilled.

Amber’s gaze still followed Hasting, but he shook his head at Shiloh’s suggestion.

Despite their brief time together, Amber always remembered that it was Erica who brought him out from a life devoid of sunlight and fresh air. Before they last parted, Erica had only left him with two instructions: one was to be loyal to his master, and the other was to rest and avoid excessive training for now.

The first point Amber had come to respect after being knocked down by Shiloh that day; no matter the “Lord’s” true identity and strength, the mere fact that he could command the respect of people like Erica and Shiloh spoke volumes about his extraordinary status.

As for the second point, it was because he wasn’t healthy enough.

Underground fighting, in the eyes of both spectators and participants, boiled down to one thing: win or die.

Amber’s natural agility and ferocity made him stand out among his peers, but that didn’t mean he reaped any benefits. The best he received was enough food to maintain his victories, which meant no more hunger—though this didn’t entail fine food, but rather various stems and animal organs that could quickly boost his energy but were completely tasteless.

Looking back, Amber could hardly remember how he managed to stuff those hard-to-swallow items into his stomach every day.

After escaping that life, every day for Amber was like a dream. He not only had a name but also his own room and bed, ate four meals a day with foods he had never seen nor imagined, and wore luxurious clothes and shoes. Because they were so new and clean, he stiffened the first time he wore them, afraid of dirtying them by accident.

But what made him most uncomfortable was how nicely everyone treated him.

It wasn’t the kind of special treatment that set him apart as something extraordinary, but rather, from the Lord to Shiloh, and even including the mercenaries who mostly kept to the periphery and seldom interacted with them. Everyone treated him like a “child”, which was the most disconcerting for Amber.

He had been a child for twelve years, but only in the last half month had he truly experienced what it was like to be treated as one.

Amber wasn’t ungrateful. He knew his body wasn’t as healthy as it seemed on the surface. Erica was right. Although he craved strength more than anyone, he understood the consequences of building on a rotten foundation—the structure would only collapse.

Hasting had once carefully examined him during downtime and, aside from malnutrition, concluded that Amber’s lungs were problematic, and his bones weren’t in great shape—he had multiple healed fractures in his fingers alone.

At the time, Amber stubbornly argued that his bones had healed and no longer hurt, and they didn’t affect his grappling or swordsmanship. Usually reticent, Hasting had unusually delivered a lecture on “The Importance of Bones for a Warrior”.

“Street thugs like to boast about their injuries, believing they can draw strength from these failures and become stronger,” Hasting had said. “But top warriors don’t think this way. They value every tooth, every bone, ensuring they are healthy and in place. A misaligned spine affects balance, not only looks unseemly but also hampers combat performance on horseback. Problems with the bones in fingers and arms mean that a weapon that could deliver full force will only achieve seventy percent. Street fighters may not understand or care about these things. What about you? Don’t you care either?”

Amber was convinced by Hasting, yet he couldn’t help feeling a bit dejected when he saw Shiloh and Hasting show off their skills.

Hasting didn’t know the two youngsters were muttering behind his back. As the Duke and rabbit-headed shopkeeper stepped onto the gangplank, he walked forward and picked up the arrow from the ground, which had changed color due to piercing through the magical creature. The shadow had completely vanished, leaving only a white mark on the cobblestone street where the arrow had struck.

“It just needs to be repolished. It won’t affect reuse,” he said calmly as he placed the arrow on the table.

Shiloh whistled, picking up the arrow to examine it closely, ignoring Hasting and Hall’s gazes. Knight Commander Shivers was usually very strict with children, and if he had been there, Shiloh would not dare to be so casual.

“You look so cool when you shoot. Amber is totally in awe of you,” the redhead teased with a grin. “No wonder your brother has charmed so many—”

Hall reached out and pinched his mouth shut, forcefully stopping the rest of his words. “Less talking. How did the mission go?”

Shiloh’s mouth was pinched like a duck’s, mumbling unclearly, “Of course $@$# went well.”

Hasting said, “I managed to leave the signal. Erica will meet us at the dock after midnight tonight, just in time.”

He was referring to Hall going ahead to notify him about the enchanted shadow.

As someone who could get lost in unfamiliar places, Shiloh wasn’t allowed to act alone, or he might end up in another city. This morning, it happened to be Hasting who disembarked with him to meet with Erica’s contact, not going for a stroll.

So, seeing the Duke and rabbit-headed shopkeeper hurriedly back to the ship, Hall understood and returned first to inform Hasting. If their roles had been reversed, the Duke and his companion wouldn’t have needed to rush back to the ship so hastily. It was just that nobody expected such an event during a casual walk.

“The Captain will be back soon. There shouldn’t be any more incidents before then,” Hall said sternly. “The ship will dock for a few more days. Should we go ashore to investigate this matter?”

Shiloh said, “I think the most important thing for now is that Hasting can’t leave the Lord’s side.”

He wasn’t the type to avoid trouble, but as a Brandenburg Knight, the safety of the Duke was always the primary mission.

Hall was about to say more when the door was suddenly knocked on. The three knights immediately quieted down, and the youngest Shiloh was sent to open the door.

“Amber? I said after lunch…” He pulled open the door, but standing there was the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

“Am I disturbing you?” he asked gently.

“Oh, not at all.” Shiloh looked back to see Hall nodding, then opened the door wider to let him into the room.

“It’s rare to see Hasting not by Dwight’s side. I thought you might be dealing with what just happened,” Charlie said as he entered, sincerely apologizing. “This was all because of me.”

Hall pulled out a chair for Charlie. “I’ve told them already. It was actually an accident. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.”

As someone who had witnessed the whole event, Hall truly meant what he said. Although he was always wary of Charlie’s identity and not as familiar with him as Shivers or Shiloh, if Charlie hadn’t exorcized the innocent bystander, that creature wouldn’t have abandoned the nearby officers to chase after them. Good deeds shouldn’t be a cause for blame.

On the contrary, if Charlie had turned around to avoid trouble, Hall would have had a worse opinion of him. Shiloh and Hasting shared this view.

“Now that you are here, we can confirm something,” Hall said. “Can you confirm if it was Elena? Does this mean she might be nearby?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper observed the arrow, which no longer showed any signs of magical residue, apart from the slightly unusual arrowhead.

“It was indeed Elena. I’m not a famously known mage, and I haven’t set foot on the Doran continent for many years. The only one who would react to my magic is her,” he said calmly.

If Columbus were still around, knowing the proximity, Charlie might have been able to track her whereabouts, but with the tin soldier gone, they had no reason to meet again… At least he thought so.

“However, magic is an extension of will. The shadow chasing me doesn’t mean Elena was nearby at the time. You can think of that action as its instinct. Magic doesn’t think, nor does it report back to its master after disappearing. If possible, you need not expend energy dealing with this matter.”

Hall and the others exchanged glances. They had always known the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was smart—not everyone could keep up with the Duke’s pace of thought and have give-and-take discussions. It wasn’t too surprising that he guessed they were discussing whether to deal with the witch matter privately.

But…

“Are you sure?” Shiloh couldn’t help asking. “I mean, if she’s nearby and we have the numbers, wouldn’t it be easy to capture her and lift the curse while we have the chance?”

“For me, the only curse that needed lifting is the one on Columbus,” Charlie said gently. “Transfiguration and mind magic are two entirely different concepts. The human soul is complex, so I cannot arbitrarily intervene in the curse on Columbus without risking irreversible consequences. As for me…”

He paused.

“Whether Elena turns my head or body into a rabbit, it doesn’t matter. I still maintain human reason, and my study of magic theory is no less than hers. With time, even the most complex knots can be untangled.”

Then why don’t you untangle it?

Before Shiloh could ask this question, Hall spoke up.

“Mr. Charlie.” He chose his words carefully. “You know I have always been with the Duke, right?”

Charlie nodded. “Thanks to you returning in time to notify Hasting.”

“I am another shadow of the Duke’s guard, usually out of his sight… This means I need to maintain a certain distance from you all.” Hall wasn’t sure whether to bring this up at this moment, but the doubt that had been nagging him since morning made him continue. “This morning… when you were walking on the street, I saw someone trying to call out to you.”

The morning streets at the docks were shrouded in a thin mist, mingled with steam rising from various large pots on both sides, making it difficult to see clearly into the distance.

Hall, worried about losing them in such weather, deliberately closed the distance to the Duke. Before they followed the officer around the corner, Hall noticed someone not far away doing the same, eyes fixed on the two people ahead.

His instincts on high alert, he listened intently to their low conversation.

“That… is it…?”

“Call out to him.”

“Wait…”

Just then, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke turned the corner, revealing their side profiles, which made them stop their hurried steps.

“Why is it a rabbit?” a man muttered. “We were wrong.”

“It can’t be.” Another, with a lower voice, said. “The back, those shoulders and legs, and the way he walks, if it’s not him, who is it? What in the world is that?”

He, too, saw the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

“If they had been a bit later, they would have shouted out, but after seeing your face, they walked away,” Hall said. “Although they only saw the back, they also mentioned the way you walk, and they sounded very certain they knew you, but you said you haven’t set foot on Doran for many years. Assuming they mistook you for someone else, could it be that you have a brother who looks very similar to you?”

“Similar” was Hall’s euphemistic way of putting it. He had brothers too. Maybe they looked somewhat alike in appearance, but differences in age, personality, and life trajectories made their postures and expressions quite distinct. Combining the shopkeeper’s attitude towards his own rabbit head, Hall felt that not addressing the curse wasn’t just some trivial matter about appearances. The real reason was his desire to hide his face.

But if not a continental fugitive or a high-ranking official, why would one prefer to maintain a non-human appearance?

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t seem surprised by Hall’s words but remained silent.

“Because they ultimately didn’t follow through, you may not have noticed this incident,” Hall said. “In their conversation, it seems they mistook you for someone else, named Louis.”

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The author has something to say:

Charlie’s brothers: I’m just a butterfly in this world of flowers~

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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 97

Naturally, Dwight remembered Witch Elena’s name, but he didn’t understand why Charlie was running as if he had seen a ghost.

“Can’t you beat her?” The two men jogged across the street. The dew was already dried by the sun, leaving the cobblestone pavement glistening.

“She’s a tough one, but that’s not her in person.” Charlie’s coat fluttered in the wind. “She’s not here right now—but if touched by that shadow following us, it would get our scent. Then, no matter where we hide in the world, she could easily track us. Believe me, it’s not pleasant.”

Unlike the common citizens’ fear and disgust at the mention of a witch, Charlie’s attitude towards Elena leaned more towards extreme avoidance. Sensing Dwight’s intention to draw his sword and confront the situation, Charlie felt obliged to explain and stop him. Although a low-level enchanted puppet was no match for Dwight, the foreseeable endless hassles that would follow were the real trouble.

Dwight indeed intended to hack that thing into pieces. Possessing a rare talent and developing magic came at a cost. Most mages weren’t physically robust, and without their magic, even a teenage street thug could easily knock down two adult mages.

This was also why, despite the extreme terror of legends regarding witches, the folk practice of hunting witches remained prevalent. Those who dabbled in black magic were mostly eccentric, reclusive, and seldom acted in groups, so it wasn’t unheard of for robust farmers using sheer numbers to overcome a witch, provided they could accept the inevitable initial casualties.

The exceptionally agile rabbit-headed shopkeeper was probably an exception.

As day broke, the street became busier, and as they moved forward, surprised and fearful shouts followed them from behind. Fortunately, the creature’s target was clear, or else Charlie would find it hard to abandon innocent bystanders if they were threatened.

Their ship was docked at the port, and before reaching it, they needed a plan—at least to prevent it from following them on board… The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was still pondering when a clear voice called out from ahead. “Hey!”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke stopped in their tracks, facing a dark-skinned, beautiful young girl.

It was Sasha.

The girl looked like a pure tourist, just as she had in Lababata, dressed in the high-waisted lantern trousers typically worn by local women, adorned with various clinking, clanging cheap jewelry, holding a large pot of Fortuna City’s special vegetable soup—a luxurious version of the dock workers’ crude breakfast, containing pork, lamb, salted beef, and seasonal fruits—with a wooden spoon stuck in it, making one wonder if she intended to eat it boldly while walking.

“It’s you, huh? Where’s the little brat?” Sasha had spotted Charlie’s distinctive rabbit head from a distance. Although she had been rebuffed last time, she still called out to him before thinking.

If trouble had a life of its own, it would surely be an endlessly multiplying spore form—the rabbit-headed shopkeeper glanced back at the shadow, which had slowed due to the increasing crowd (and the ensuing confusion), and reluctantly lifted his top hat. “Miss, we meet again.”

Sasha looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you in such a hurry? You guys—”

Her gaze shifted to the Duke beside him, her eyes widening with interest.

“Who is this?” she asked, thinking it was no wonder everyone had to go on a pilgrimage around the continent. Before today, she thought Erica was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Sasha had seen handsome men before, but the one in front of her was different from those whose eyebrows seemed meticulously measured and who wore more lead powder than some women, giving off an effeminate vibe. Though somewhat thin, he had good shoulder width and long legs, and most importantly, he had a pair of eyes that weren’t those of a weak person.

Without any need for communication or testing each other, just the look in his eyes conveyed a strong will. In the education Sasha received, even a person who was critically ill and powerless deserved respect and attention if they possessed such eyes.

The Duke’s response was no response.

Even though it wasn’t a good time for this enthusiastic young woman to be flirting, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, not used to seeing women embarrassed, spoke up. “We are in a bit of a hurry.”

Surprisingly, Sasha wasn’t annoyed by the Duke’s cold demeanor. As the shouting and clamor behind them grew closer, she tiptoed to look over Charlie’s shoulder. “What is that? Is it after you?”

She grinned at Dwight. “How about I smash it for you in exchange for your name?”

Dwight didn’t respond but raised his cane swiftly and harshly at Sasha, who instinctively dodged to the left, startled by his quickness. But the expected blow did not come—Dwight had retracted his cane in a feint, forcing Sasha to clear the way. He then strode past her, giving her a cold glance as he passed.

Charlie, entirely unprepared for Dwight’s sudden move, though it was only meant to scare Sasha off the path, quickly followed suit, nodding apologetically at Sasha as he passed.

“I didn’t expect you to suddenly make a move,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, looking at the increasingly distinct profile of the Duke.

The Duke was unmoved. “She’s from the Lion family.”

With just that phrase, Charlie understood the source of his harsh demeanor: as a member of one of the Empire’s oldest high-ranking families, preserving the family’s status and glory was instinctive for every head of the Dwight family. Ever since learning of the Black Gold Families’ plot to overturn the continent using the Holy Grail, his attitude towards several families had shifted from disdain to vigilance and defense. No matter how cute Sasha might be, she likely bore no appeal to him.

Moreover, the Duke of Brandenburg was synonymous with arrogance and caprice, although the sharp edges fostered by a privileged life over the past decade had been somewhat softened on this journey away from his homeland, reminding the rabbit-headed shopkeeper of how much of a self-centered person he had been when they first met. The unexpected cane gesture reminded him of that.

“Given Sasha’s age, she likely isn’t involved in such core plans,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt compelled to say.

“So I didn’t really make a move,” the Duke replied. “Move faster. Let’s get back to the ship.”

As if he needed a young girl to bail him out!

“We can’t let it follow us onto the ship.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper glanced back again. They were getting increasingly closer to the port.

“Hall has already gone ahead,” the Duke said impatiently. “What are you afraid of?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper instinctively wanted to retort that he wasn’t afraid, but the words turned around in his mouth, and he swallowed them back.

It seemed this wasn’t the first time the Duke had asked this question. Last time, he had made a significant gesture—saying he could protect him.

Was this fulfilling a promise?

A mix of embarrassment, awkwardness, and emotion was so complex that it unusually disrupted the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s ability to maintain his usual composure. His expression was notably conflicted for a moment. He coughed lightly, pretending to remain calm. “What’s your plan?”

For some reason, Brandenburg possessed many expensive and rare magical items yet had no serious mages (Erica doesn’t count). He recalled that on the ship there were the remaining crew members, Hasting and Amber, along with a few mercenaries whose contracts were nearly expired, none of whom seemed to possess much magical power.

The Duke didn’t elaborate much. As the tall mast of their ship came into view, his pace slowed.

“Do you know why Shivers appointed Hasting to temporarily take his place?” he suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question.

As he spoke, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper saw a young knight with dark short hair and a stern face standing high on the ship’s railing, quietly watching them, holding a bow nearly as tall as a person.

For some reason, although the enchanted puppet was still closing in from behind, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s anxious mood incredibly settled down, and he even stopped walking.

“Why?” he asked softly.

Although they were still far away, at that moment Hasting also raised his bow and drew the string—almost as if answering his question through the air.

The young man’s gaze was firm, never lingering on his own master but instead focusing beyond them, locking onto the shadow that had now moved as naturally as a human and was quite fast.

A whooshing sound passed between the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke. The Duke didn’t look back but continued walking forward. “Because Hasting has a magic-nullifying constitution. With him around, no unnatural schemes can take effect.”

Few knew this.

Knight Commander Shivers was renowned for his extraordinary equestrian and swordsmanship, and every member of the Brandenburg Knights was a picked warrior, fierce in battle. Yet, Hasting remained one of the secret cores of the Brandenburg Knights’ invincibility in Pennigra.

Charlie learned in his first magic class at Monterey Academy that, actually, most people have magical potential—it was just a matter of more or less.

Gifted mages could manipulate natural elements, blur the lines between space and life and death, influence battlefields, and affect the geopolitical landscape of the continent, while most people’s magic, though present, was very subtle. Without systematic learning and development, it was hard to recognize its existence, at most enough for a prophetic dream once in a long while—starting from ten years, essentially non-existent.

But “most” implied there were exceptions.

People with a magic-nullifying constitution were rarer than great mages. They had no magical fluctuations within their bodies, couldn’t respond to natural elements, and even eating all the magic books in the world wouldn’t make them mages—but conversely, no magic could affect them. Depending on the strength of their constitution, they could also influence their surroundings, becoming a mobile anti-magic barrier.

Such individuals were so rare that not even five could be counted across two continents, among whom the most famous was the current Emperor Constantine.

Hasting excelled with a blade, but his archery was clearly also remarkable. The arrow flew through the shadow as if carrying a streak of sunlight, and “ding” hit the stone street, sending out a few sparks.

The shadow evaporated like morning mist in the sunlight, leaving the surrounding bystanders puzzled and uncertain, looking toward where the arrow had been shot, unsure of what exactly had happened.

The knight lowered his arm and leaped from the ship’s railing, landing neatly on the dock amid exclamations of surprise. Behind him, a gangplank was lowered from the ship.

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The author has something to say:

Sasha: Erica who?

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 96

The morning at the docks began before sunrise, when the originally white stone-paved roads, after decades or even centuries of being trodden upon, had turned black and were always damp, carrying a hint of fishiness.

The port of Fortuna City wasn’t only a hub for several inland waterways but also the last stop before heading to White Bridge via water route. However, many local citizens, from birth to death, never visited that land of wine and gold even once. Yet, the wealthy continued to flock there, stopping in Fortuna for repairs and supplies. This place, originally a small fishing village, had grown into a mid-sized city in less than a century, with many farmers who couldn’t grow enough produce to export continually flooding into the city, finding sustenance as long as they were willing.

Lemena was deep inland, with several non-freezing lakes but no canals, and the coast was far beyond reach.

Thus, many sights here were novel to Dwight—long before dawn, shops along the main road from the docks to the city started to open, unloading their shutters and displaying various goods, mostly cheap bread, soups made from shredded cabbage and onions, or oatmeal, all steaming in big, deep barrels that were quite tempting on a chilly morning.

Seeing Dwight gaze at the barrels, Charlie chuckled softly. “You wouldn’t like that. The dockworkers’ breakfast is the cheapest food. The ingredients aren’t much better, often with rotten cabbage and hard, inedible beans that you only realize are sour and bitter when you taste them.”

Dwight hadn’t planned on eating. It wasn’t hard to tell that the goods sold by the shops opening at this hour weren’t of high quality. More expensive items like cheese, wine, and fruits were nowhere to be seen, and the shops were small and narrow, hardly offering any tables or chairs for customers to sit and eat or rest. However, occasionally, burly men dressed as workers would stop to buy a piece of bread to dip in the soup and eat quickly while standing on the side of the road.

“Sour and bitter?” Dwight asked again.

At least everyone in sight seemed to enjoy their food.

“Indeed, sour and bitter,” Charlie replied as they walked slowly. The dew was heavy. Both of them were wearing hats and dressed neatly, attracting many glances, but no one approached or struck up a conversation.

It was too early for pickpockets and thugs. Only those desperately needing to bring bread home before sunset were out.

“Even if it’s sour and bitter, no one spits it out,” he said in a low voice, not lingering his gaze on those eating breakfast. “They need the calories to have the strength for today’s work, and they’ve paid for the soup and bread—there’s nothing more valuable than that.”

Dwight was silent.

He wasn’t unaware of the hardships of the lower classes. Lemena’s natural bounty and fertile land made it a relatively prosperous region, even in Pennigra. As a Duke, he knew that simply not overtaxing his subjects was enough to earn their gratitude. Standing on this street today, no more than fifteen feet from those scantily clad laborers, seeing the steam rising from the soup pots felt like crossing a barrier he had always been isolated from, touching a world utterly foreign to him.

Beside him, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was wearing a black knee-length coat with two rows of mother-of-pearl buttons shining in the dim morning light, boots and hat immaculate, looking fit to enter city hall or attend a banquet with just the right cane.

Despite often claiming poverty, everyone knew that 22 Paulownia Street had amassed a significant fortune, with rumors even suggesting the shopkeeper was richer than some small country kings. Like the Knight Commander, he was familiar with the Duke’s everyday standards during their brief separation.

Such a person, yet he was standing on the dockside street describing the taste of the laborers’ breakfast in such a natural and understated tone, wasn’t embellishing or emphasizing anything, but the Duke didn’t believe someone without personal experience could detail such life so casually.

The Duke lowered his eyes, remaining silent.

He wanted to ask, “How do you know what that soup tastes like?” but wasn’t sure.

Uncertain whether the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would tell the truth and whether he wanted to hear it.

So it was better not to ask.

They continued along the long road, and as time passed, the temperature rose quickly. The morning fog thinned, and more houses along the street opened their doors and windows, filling the streets with the sounds of chatter and movement.

“After sunrise, more shops will open. If we’re lucky, we can buy fine gin and premium ham, and some specialty stores—” Charlie’s words were cut off by the sound of approaching horse hooves. Soon, two horses appeared at the end of the street, ridden by two individuals dressed in maroon uniforms with black felt hats.

They turned into an alley on the left ahead, their hooves distinctly audible on such a quiet morning. People in the breakfast shops peered curiously, and some even followed to see the commotion.

“Are those sheriffs?” Dwight squinted. He judged by their uniforms, tight at the cuffs and waist, tucked into riding boots, a dagger belted but no armor worn, it suggested it wasn’t a lord’s cavalry but more like a police force from a sizable city.

“Probably,” Charlie suggested half-heartedly. “Shall we go take a look?”

Fully armed on the street at this time likely meant trouble.

Dwight pretended not to notice his reluctance in his tone and headed towards the alley.

He had noticed that the closer they got to White Bridge, the more low-profile Charlie became, especially evident now. This unwillingness to cause trouble was a stark contrast to his eagerness to explore every commercial street in Lababata or during the March Rabbit Market.

If not for Dwight’s specific request, Charlie would have preferred to sleep in the warm cabin this morning rather than taking this precious opportunity to go ashore.

But he denied any potential threat from Fortuna City, so Dwight thought his unusual reticence more resembled a near-hometown nervousness.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper appeared easy-going, always smiling and amiable, yet surprisingly firm-mouthed, not giving away anything he didn’t wish to disclose. Prying wasn’t the Duke’s style, so he prepared to observe for himself.

The incident site was closer than they expected. It was just a short distance from the corner, where a small crowd had gathered. Two uniformed officers had tied their horses to an iron lamppost; one stood, the other crouched, observing a man lying on the ground with the onlookers.

Someone, perhaps a doctor or an assistant, knowing a bit of medical knowledge, was loudly dispersing the crowd to let “this poor man breathe some fresh air.”

“He’s still alive.” As Charlie and Dwight approached, the crouching middle-aged officer moved his hand from the collapsed man’s neck. The man’s hair was sparse, his face pale purple, barely showing any chest movement—if not for the officer’s assurance, most would assume they were seeing a corpse.

Interestingly, once it was confirmed this wasn’t a violent death on the street, the crowd voluntarily dispersed—everyone had work to do early in the morning, and since the officers were already there, there was no need to waste time over a drunkard who drank bad liquor or someone who suddenly fell ill.

Only the person who dispersed the crowd stayed at the officer’s request, not lifting the man but vigorously rubbing his hands across his chest to warm him.

Charlie and Dwight didn’t approach closer because of the dispersing crowd but stood a few steps away, watching them frantically trying to wake the still unconscious man.

Dwight’s gaze fell on a cloth bag near their feet, likely dropped suddenly due to its scattered contents, including a hand mirror, a simple hair curler, and a comb. A ribbon peeped out of the bag, its end dampened and emitting a scent of rose water, suggesting a glass container had shattered.

These were women’s makeup items. The bag probably also contained lead powder, rouge, and a toothbrush, among other things.

Before Priscilla was married, she had a dressing room next to her bedroom filled with such items. Every winter, Dwight would also authorize a budget for makeup expenses for the women in the castle to prepare for the coming spring, which included these items as well.

However, ordinary citizens or even lower-class women clearly didn’t have the means of a Duke’s daughter or the castle’s maids. For ordinary female workers, let alone makeup, even buying a new dress was a luxury. Even if the items scattered from the bag weren’t high-end, most would likely not use them.

Thus, this man must have been a craftsman serving women with special professions—women of lower status in flower yards without maids or actresses in theaters often employ such people for their services.

Most likely, there was a major performance at a nearby theater last night, and the craftsman was busy until late at night, helping everyone remove their makeup and comb their hair until the break of dawn, but he collapsed on his way home.

“His heartbeat is getting stronger,” said the man who had been rubbing his chest in distress, “but he hasn’t woken up.”

“Could he be ill?” asked the other officer. Only when she spoke did everyone realize she was a woman. She seemed to have some medical knowledge as she was taking off her gloves while speaking. “Let’s check his eyes.”

Inspired by her words, the man reached to lift the closed eyelids of the unconscious man but recoiled with a scream, throwing his hands back in fright.

“What happened?” the officer asked anxiously.

“His pupils are white!” The man backed away two steps. “He’s been cursed, or—or possessed—”

But it was too late.

Before he could finish his sentence, his throat made a “gurgle” sound, and his eyes rolled back as his hands involuntarily clutched his own throat.

“What’s going on?” The female officer drew her dagger, unsure of what to do next since the man’s only target was himself.

As soon as he heard the description of white pupils, Charlie’s ears twitched involuntarily. Before he could voice a warning, the well-intentioned bystander began to convulse.

“Don’t get close to him!” Charlie shouted, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat to pull out a flat object and throwing it at the man, hitting him squarely on the forehead with a “thud”.

Immediately, the man’s hands released their grip, and he fell backward as if knocked out, but something even stranger occurred. As he fell, a black figure rose from his body, as if someone was forcibly pulling his shadow out—this shadow even wore the man’s clothes and hat, but its face and limbs appeared as a blurred black. It moved slowly and eerily as it stood up, wobbled, and turned towards Charlie, as if sizing him up.

But before it could fully stabilize, Charlie had already grabbed Dwight’s hand and turned to run, holding his top hat with his other hand as he looked back while running. As expected, the shadow adapted quickly to its limbs, moving more smoothly and clearly heading straight for him.

“Black magic?” Dwight also looked back as he ran. “What did you throw at him?”

“Just a piece of wood, but it had an exorcism script I wrote on it,” Charlie explained, speeding up. “I had a bad feeling this morning, and it turns out this was why!”

Dwight stroked his cane. “So it’s coming after you?”

The black magic he was familiar with usually attacked indiscriminately unless the caster was present—since when had it evolved to precisely identify the person who expelled it from a body?

The two officers closer to the scene were unharmed, and Dwight saw them looking terrified at the shadow, forgetting even to run.

Charlie held onto Dwight’s hand tightly, nearly dragging him across the street. “Magic always leaves traces. It’s not coming because of the exorcism script, but because the person who wrote the script is me.”

It sounded as though Charlie and that kind of magic recognized each other… Dwight seemed to recall something, pausing slightly in surprise. “Elena?”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 95

Yitzfa had never run so hard in his life. The wind rushing into his nostrils and lungs made him painfully breathless, but Shivers tightly gripped his wrist and dragged him along at a breakneck pace. The downhill path only added to their momentum, making it unbearable. Every second, Yitzfa felt he would collapse.

But he couldn’t stop.

The noise behind them made it clear that someone from the mansion was in pursuit. He couldn’t even afford to look back to check if the sound of arrows piercing the air was mingling with the wind, nor could he contemplate the possibility of dying right there—all he could do was run!

Despite his pampered upbringing, Yitzfa’s stamina was surprisingly better than he or Shivers had anticipated. Shivers’ weeks of scouting at night proved crucial as they bypassed the farmsteads. Though it was a longer route, the darkness helped them successfully make it to the woods that had begun sprouting new shoots. However, the light from the torches behind them pursued them relentlessly. Whether by Lestrop’s will or not, it seemed the mansion’s people were determined not to let these audacious men escape this night.

Yitzfa’s throat was too dry to speak. He wanted to yell for a stop, to say he could run no more, but Shivers never looked back, his silhouette harsh and severe in the moonlight.

But that severe demeanor didn’t last long. Shivers kindly slowed down, and when he finally turned around, Yitzfa’s ghostly pale face gave him a startle.

The man who had been dressed up with lace and silk like a porcelain doll by the ladies of the town just days ago now looked utterly disheveled, gasping like a dying fish.

Shivers knew he wasn’t used to running like this, but…

“We can’t stop yet,” he said, helping Yitzfa catch his breath. “We haven’t shaken off our pursuers, and we are still in Lestrop’s territory.”

Yitzfa pushed him away, bending over and supporting himself on his knees. His whole body was trembling.

“But we don’t need to keep running ourselves.” Shivers’s tone returned to its usual gentleness, soothingly pulling him along. “We’ll ride horses.”

Where are the horses?

Yitzfa refused to move, too dry in the mouth and throat to speak, just staring reproachfully with wide eyes.

“It’s just ahead, not far,” Shivers coaxed. “We really can’t stop. Those with torches are just a small group. We ran into the woods, so they’re probably using hunting dogs. We made it to the river, and they’ll have horsemen. Only by mounting a horse and leaving this area—away from the manor and the city—are we truly safe.”

Realizing Yitzfa could run no further, Shivers simply slung his arm over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him along, still managing a decent pace. He hadn’t lied. After less than ten minutes of moving, they emerged from the woods to a small hill where a chestnut horse was quietly tethered to an apple tree. The area was silent, with no one else in sight.

Yitzfa thought he heard Shivers chuckle, but before he could listen closely, he was hoisted onto the horse. Despite the long, chaotic escape, Shivers looked hardly fatigued as he shook the reins and turned the horse into the deep night.

“You look so smug because you taught that guy a lesson, huh?” The Duke sat in a handwoven rattan chair, watching workers and servants on the dock busy like ants. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stood by his side, leaning against the ship’s railing as he smoked.

Unlike the old smoker, who was engulfed in smoke, his smoking posture was elegant. Occasionally, he would exhale a cloud of smoke. The overly round shape of the smoke rings playfully revealed his good mood.

“You have to admit, Eugene did well.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper turned away from the railing. One hand rested on it as he glanced at the Duke. “Was it when you were beating him up outside the green forest mine that you discovered his knack for tactics, and decided to send him to support Shivers?”

Dwight ignored the jest, slowly folding the letter in his hand.

Though unspoken, he agreed that Eugene had indeed performed exceptionally well this time.

Initially, the illiterate, petty thief seemed to have no talents beyond perceptiveness and was barely useful as a footman. But as they delved deeper into Doran, his adaptability, linguistic talent, and ability to judge situations sharply became increasingly apparent.

Besides his innate talent, his humble origins and years of living at the bottom had also shaped him; even Rabbit Head said he didn’t know Eugene could use his parting gift so effectively.

In their only brief meeting in the city, knowing roughly of Shivers’ plan, Eugene gave the knight all the useful gadgets he thought necessary: a detachable crossbow, smoke bombs for escape, and paralyzing potions. These proved quite effective afterwards.

But more valuable than such analysis and response was the rapport he built with others during the journey. According to Shivers’ description, they had only agreed beforehand that Eugene would prepare an escape boat and that they would meet at a secret location by the river outside the city after the moonrise to flee together.

Without knowing that Yitzfa would also join this action, Eugene had set up a double safety for Shivers—the chestnut horse.

They had never discussed it, neither the horse nor the place it was tethered, but peculiarly, without much chance to communicate, Eugene had accurately judged that Shivers might need that horse, and Shivers, for no apparent reason, felt Eugene would prepare the horse, even down to the apple tree where it was tied.

And it was indeed that horse that enabled Shivers to promptly take an utterly exhausted Yitzfa away from the pursuers, reaching the river where the three successfully met and continued downstream. If all went well, by the time the Duke received the report, they would be nearing the border of the Mokwen Kingdom, about to take the route through Lababata to meet up with them.

In the report that arrived ahead of them, Shivers also mentioned a detail: On the boat, the three had a deep conversation. Yitzfa said that due to limited time, after Lestrop and others were led away by Shivers, he had only managed to briefly look through each room. There were indeed valuable items in the round study, including early records of the manor’s dealings with a witch apothecarist and some letters, but parts involving potion formulas had been deliberately destroyed, and it was unclear if there were more secure hidden chambers deeper within the manor.

Yitzfa hadn’t handed this information to Shivers but intended to take it back to the Fox family for further study, though he agreed to let Shivers transcribe a copy to take with him.

This member of the Fox family was bolder than anyone had anticipated. He had indeed set a fire in those rooms. The content of his shouts as he rolled and scrambled past was no lie, but at the time, no one knew he was playing a double game.

And this action further confirmed the previous suspicions about the Fox family—that even within the Black Gold Families, their stance on the Holy Grail was probably not unified. Otherwise, Yitzfa’s primary goal should have been to gather as much information as possible, not to spend precious reconnaissance time starting a fire.

Just based on this, Shivers believed that Yitzfa himself wasn’t in favor of the Holy Grail’s advent. As for the reasons, perhaps Yitzfa also felt the Holy Grail was a sacrilege, unfit for the world; perhaps the Fox family’s lineage couldn’t produce the Holy Grail, and for competitive balance, they didn’t want other families to successfully obtain the Holy Grail; or perhaps both reasons applied.

“The witch apothecarist…” Dwight repeated softly, his fingers pressing the edge of the paper, smoothing out a sharp corner. Gradually, he shaped a tiny paper turtle in his hand.

From the decorations deep within the manor and the information they had brought out, Lestrop and the Tifa group’s methods to replicate the Holy Grail were nothing but potion formulas obtained from mages, regardless of whatever foundational theories they believed in.

Charlie understood why he was focusing on this word.

Magical potions differed from ordinary potions not only in ingredients and price but also in characteristics.

Potions with magical properties couldn’t hide this fact. They might taste unusual or have strange colors. High-grade magical potions also had various attention-grabbing appearances—they might change color, sparkle, or even make sounds, making it very difficult to surreptitiously induce someone to ingest them.

So, to find out whether Lestrop had also experimented on himself, one simply needed to confirm with Priscilla herself whether she had ingested any magical potions before becoming pregnant to make an initial judgment.

“Priscilla has been suspicious and cautious of the Earl for a long time. I believe she wouldn’t have willingly ingested any concoctions given by her husband, so it’s very likely that the child isn’t affected.”

“Better this way,” Dwight said with distaste. “Tifa had better pull himself together, or else I’ll have to go settle the account myself.”

“Ah, about that.” Charlie blinked as if he seemed to remember something. “I think the King will likely be successful because the Earl got injured.”

Dwight turned to look at him.

Charlie pulled out a dip pen from his jacket pocket. Since his other hand was holding a pipe, he could only draw a simple magical array on the paper turtle resting in Dwight’s palm with one hand. He mischievously added two peppercorn-sized eyes, then put away the pen, picked up the paper turtle, and threw it over the ship’s railing. The two watched as it seemed to come to life upon hitting the water, wriggling its body before quickly diving beneath the surface and disappearing.

This was the “Deep Sea Courier”, a magic spell improvised by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. It was a variant of the “Gray Sentinel”, specialized in diving. It tirelessly swam towards the deepest part of the water until the paper dissolved. If touched by a creature (like being swallowed by a big fish), it will dissolve quickly without a trace.

In other words, it was pretty much only useful for disposing of evidence.

After finishing this, Charlie finally said in a relaxed tone, “Shivers scratched Lestrop, and he’s sure he drew blood. The dagger he used was given by Shiloh to Eugene when he was leaving, and we did a bit of work on it—processed it if you will.”

“Poison?” Dwight straightened up a bit with interest.

Charlie waved his hand. “Poison isn’t so easy to concoct. The potent ones mostly require venomous creatures for processing, and the cost is too high. I can’t afford it.”

Perhaps it was the Duke’s scornful gaze burning into him that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper quickly added, “Besides, using poison isn’t a good idea for nobles, especially royals, who have been trained from a young age to build up a tolerance to toxins, right?”

That was indeed true. The Duke, having undergone such training until adulthood, grudgingly accepted his face-saving comment. “So what did you do?”

“I also applied a bit of medicine to the blade, similar to the paralyzing potion on the crossbows, but with improved effects.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a person with broad ideas, never satisfied with a single research result.

Just like the Gray Sentinel, whether it was magic or potions, he liked to continually modify and create a series, and the paralyzing potion was no different.

The potion applied to the crossbow took effect instantly and lasted for 3-5 hours, leaving no harm to the body after recovery.

The potion on the dagger, however, was modified from this base. The paralysis didn’t take effect immediately but randomly—activating at some point within 6 hours, automatically recovering, and then becoming effective again.

Compared to the straightforward immediate paralysis, the latter was more cunning: When it took effect and then automatically recovered, it would give the impression of the body’s toxin resistance purifying itself, and then the victim would be unguarded against a subsequent paralysis.

More importantly, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper insisted on making only potions, not poisons. Hence, the paralyzing potion didn’t actually harm the body and was immune to various antidotes. Those affected could only endure it, unable to cure it.

After explaining his pharmaceutical philosophy, the Duke looked at him, and he at the Duke.

“Lestrop is going back because Tifa’s army is surrounding the manor,” Dwight said. “He might rest and command from the rear after the ambush, but once he feels recovered, he’ll definitely go to the front line.”

The reason was none other than his opponent, Tifa.

Years of resentment and non-acceptance would make it unbearable for Lestrop not to personally defeat Tifa’s army, unless he was caught off-guard from behind a second time, in which case he would definitely join the battlefield.

And in battle, where swords had no eyes and situations changed in an instant, a moment’s distraction could be fatal, not to mention sudden full-body stiffness?

Dwight suddenly felt very pleased, standing up from the rattan chair.

He always thought the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s research was more playful than practical, but this time it played a serious and very satisfying role.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched as the Duke approached him—raising his hand holding the pipe, he then bowed his head and took a puff.

He actually smokes?

Charlie thought somewhat dazedly, then watched as the other man turned and blew a smoke ring at him, shaped just as round as the one he had made not long before.

The smoke ring didn’t come at his cheek with frivolity like a libertine but wavered towards his ears. It was as if it had touched the hair of his ear but also as if it hadn’t, then it dissipated into the air.

“Well done,” Dwight said to him.

---

The author has something to say:

Dwight: That “Gray Sentinel” of yours…

Charlie: Impressive, right? Stealthy as a ghost.

Dwight: The idea of using biomimicry is interesting, but there’s room for improvement. Can’t you fold an eagle or a cheetah instead?

Charlie: Ah, what’s fun in all that fighting and killing? My greatest wish is for world peace! Don’t you like birds? Then I’ll teach you something else. How about a little turtle or a mouse?

Dwight: ……

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 94

Shivers moved forward slowly, sticking close to the stone wall, breathing very slowly.

After those men entered the room, it became difficult to hear any movement, but if it were just servants or ordinary guards, they could be dealt with cautiously…

A warm yellow glow emanated from behind the partially closed door, strikingly beautiful against the cold, damp stone stairs and walls, like a candle in the night drawing moths with its heat.

From the crack in the door, Shivers couldn’t see if anyone was inside the whole room, but he noticed another door frame on the wall directly opposite the main entrance.

Had those men entered another room through here?

Shivers stood in front of the door, about to reach out, when the deep red walnut door suddenly opened from inside!

He was startled and instinctively stepped back. Before his heel hit the ground, a fierce sword strike came slashing down from above—if he hadn’t dodged in time, his skull might have been cracked open.

This was a move typically used by someone tall or a cavalryman, and it just so happened that Shivers commanded a whole cavalry troop. His body reacted before his brain, sidestepping and crouching slightly to raise his elbow and block the heavy slash, accompanied by the crisp sound of breaking wood.

Both combatants narrowed their eyes.

Lestrop was surprised that this sneaky intruder had such skills. He didn’t look like a scout that a useless man like Tifa could have trained, while Shivers was unprepared for Lestrop’s presence here.

Flesh and blood couldn’t withstand steel blades. What allowed him to successfully block that strike was the crossbow component that had been disassembled and strapped to his forearm after completing its mission. Luckily, he was accustomed to being orderly. Without that small part, it might have been his forearm bone that cracked.

Lestrop missed his strike and paused only for a second before thrusting his sword again, but Shivers moved faster, darting forward at a strange angle. The silver light in his hand reached Lestrop before the sword tip, forcing Lestrop to also dodge sideways. The move was a feint. Shivers slipped through the gap and entered the room.

Lestrop was instantly alarmed. He had intended to deliver a fatal blow to the unwary intruder, but not only did Shivers evade him, he also managed to get inside the room where the situation was reversed. The items in the room hadn’t been moved. Whether it was precious herbal spices or enchanted glassware, all were fragile, making him reluctant to damage them.

Shivers clearly understood this too. Before Lestrop could follow him inside, he kicked over a bookshelf. The items on it clattered to the floor, and a strange-smelling powder spilled from a cracked bottle, scattering everywhere.

Lestrop lunged like a lion with bristling mane, swinging his sword at him. Just then, a man from another room, hearing the noise, opened the door to check. He was grabbed by Shivers by the wall and hurled at Lestrop like a shot put. The servant, unaccustomed to such long swords, staggered and knelt down in fright, narrowly avoiding Lestrop’s sword, but a small piece of his ear was sliced off, causing him to cry out in pain.

Shivers, with only a dagger in hand, had almost no chance against a longsword, but his goal wasn’t to engage directly. Seeing two more men dressed as servants run out from a suite, he decisively disengaged and dashed back towards the door. Lestrop, much taller and bulkier, was less agile. He instinctively reached out to stop him but missed. Infuriated, he drew his sword and gave chase.

The narrow stone staircase, originally designed for secrecy, now limited Lestrop, who was accustomed to long swords. Out of caution, he never parted with his weapon, but in such confined spaces, he couldn’t fully wield his sword. Several servants, reacting to the chase, also crowded behind him in the dark corridor.

Shivers took the stairs two at a time with Lestrop close behind—despite his large frame, the Earl wasn’t slow and, being more familiar with the terrain, Shivers found it hard to shake him off.

The spiral staircase led upwards. Shivers ran like a lean wolf, speeding across the fields. The air blowing past his cheeks pierced the stagnant air of the washroom.

Once out of the narrow space, Lestrop’s long sword could significantly close the distance between them. Shivers, without looking back, threw a small, round object. It rolled right under Lestrop’s foot as he stepped out of the corridor. He immediately sidestepped to avoid it.

However, the anticipated explosion didn’t occur. Instead, the peculiar little ball lay harmlessly on the ground. After a silent half-second between man and sphere, a thick white smoke suddenly burst out with a loud bang, engulfing the exit of the secret passage with an acrid smell. Realizing it was just a diversion, Lestrop held his breath and dashed through the smoke—Shivers had already fled down the stone corridor and might escape through the back door into the bushes if he didn’t enter the main house.

Fortunately, Lady Luck was still on his side. Due to unfamiliarity with the terrain, the other chose the other side of the mansion, scattering several maids with trays and causing a commotion.

As he chased, Lestrop yelled at the maids, still confused about what was happening. “Get Murray—no, have Foley catch him!”

His captain of the guard, Murray, was highly skilled in combat, but even in his anger, Lestrop retained a shred of rationality. Murray was at the front line against the King’s army, and it wouldn’t be wise to pull his reliable lieutenant from his post just for a rat.

Lestrop wouldn’t let a proxy truly command any threatening armed force, but since the intruder had gone upstairs, locking the door and gathering the estate’s usual enforcers to surround and capture him was just a matter of time… No, he wanted to personally strangle this little thief who dared to spy on his secrets as a rehearsal before killing Tifa.

At this moment, Lestrop was a far cry from the courteous and wealthy Earl, who had cared deeply for his wife in the capital. On the second floor, Shivers was blocked by three servants. He stopped, glanced back, and met Lestrop’s bloodshot eyes.

Shiver wasn’t intimidated by Lestrop’s fearsome expression, but it terrified the servant facing Shivers. The man in the middle panicked, shifting his gaze away from Shivers, only to be floored by a heavy, quick punch from the man before him, struggling to rise.

Two men lunged at Shivers, but one was swept off his feet by Shivers’ low sweep, as if he was struck hard on the leg with an iron rod. Losing his balance, he fell while the other, seeing only a blur, screamed in pain, clutching his bleeding face.

At this moment, Shivers demonstrated a strength that belied his appearance—lifting the man he had knocked down, he threw him down the carpeted staircase, rolling to Lestrop’s feet.

Lestrop halted, not even glancing at the man, his eyes coldly fixed on Shivers.

“Who are you?” he asked.

If Shivers weren’t seen as an enemy, Lestrop might have left his body intact out of respect for his audacity, courage, and arrogance.

Unfortunately, such a man should be facing him on the battlefield, not sneaking into his estate like a thief.

Shivers responded with a defiant smile.

“Is that your secret, Lestrop?” he asked, not answering the question. “You never put down your sword, yet you hide long in the shadowy labs, trying to harness innocent people’s power for a strength that isn’t yours.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re so arrogant, trusting no one, breaking the necks of those who defy you or fail to meet your expectations, yet you can only reach your frail ambitions through them…”

“I said shut up!”

Lestrop shouted, his chest heaving with rage.

The estate’s steward, Foley, arrived with a team of guards in uniform, but Lestrop motioned for them not to approach and stepped onto the staircase himself.

“I wanted to leave you a whole corpse as a reward for your lone infiltration, but since you spoke out of turn, I’ve changed my mind,” Lestrop said slowly. “Did you also learn how to handle those who anger me? I will chop off their heads and mount them on spears, letting their blood stain the wood red.”

He stared unblinkingly at the man standing on the stairs, trying to gauge something from his expression, which showed no fear but only heightened excitement as Lestrop approached.

He recognized that look. It was that of a man born for battle, one he had seen on his deceased father’s face.

But this man wasn’t as wise as his father, choosing a dead end for himself.

In the confined space of the chamber, his build and weapons were limited, reducing his chances of victory, but he had run to the spacious main house. Even without Foley’s help, he couldn’t withstand Lestrop’s longsword with just a dagger.

“Foolish,” Lestrop said, raising his sword—his speed increased in the relatively open space, but Shivers was prepared, sidestepping the blade’s edge. The wooden banister beside him sparked as it was cleaved, sending splinters flying.

Though the disadvantage in weapon length couldn’t be compensated immediately, Shivers, fearless and relentless, didn’t back down but instead seized the moment when his sword got stuck in the banister, stepping forward with a big stride and swinging his elbow. Lestrop had to lean back to dodge, and still, the overly sharp tip of the blade left a shallow cut on his jaw, barely missing his throat.

“The fool here is you,” Shivers said, his actions sharp and swift, his smile growing wider. “Who said I came alone?”

Lestrop paused.

“I thought something was off,” Shivers said maliciously, lowering his voice. “Don’t you cherish what’s in the secret chamber?”

As if to prove his point, someone burst in, rolling and scrambling. “It’s smoking! There’s a fire deep in the stone chamber! The corridors are filled with smoke—”

Lestrop’s face went pale, and almost without thinking, he made a decision. “Flynn!”

As if waiting for the command, the plump middle-aged man led the guards and the servants present in a charge, while Lestrop himself leaped down the stairs, decisively abandoning Shivers.

In his heart, no intruder could compare to the secret chamber he had devoted years to.

Seeing him turn, Shivers didn’t hesitate either. He turned and ran. Probably trying to gain favor in front of the Earl, everyone chased vigorously—one servant even outpaced the guards to reach out to Shivers.

Flynn was delighted. “Catch him!”

As soon as he spoke, the middle-aged man saw Shivers, without looking back, grab the servant, pull him forward, and increase his speed, quickly passing through the corridor to the second-floor balcony.

Everyone was confused by this sudden turn of events. Another servant, also at the front, uncertainly looked back and asked, “Isn’t this the same person who just sounded the alarm?”

Did they have this person in their manor?

“They’re accomplices!” Flynn shouted in frustration. “Notify the archers—”

It was already too late.

For the sake of aesthetics, balconies weren’t made with any unsightly defenses—a common understanding on the continent. The watchtowers on either side of the residence couldn’t hear the indoor shouting in time, and by the time everyone else reached the balcony and the watchtowers shot their arrows, all that was left under the balcony was a rope, swaying in the breeze created by the arrows.

---

The author has something to say:

Does the prop used by Shivers look familiar?

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 93

Yitzfa had once explained the existence of the Holy Grail, but the more detailed his explanation, the more it seemed that the efforts of those outside the Black Gold Families bloodline were both futile and bizarre.

It had long been common for the Black Gold Families to maintain a united front of silence to outsiders, but there were no secrets that time didn’t reveal, no matter how harshly their disclosure was prohibited. Over time, secrets were inevitably eroded, much like a stone wall that appeared solid but slowly crumbled.

Shivers understood that once the existence of the Holy Grail was made public, it wouldn’t just be a few kingdoms in the southwestern part of the Doran continent that would be affected. Families with the legendary bloodline would also become common prey, elevated to sacrificial status on altars, unless they preemptively fulfilled the ambitions of people like Lestrop.

However, no historical records existed of such events, and given Yitzfa’s ambiguous stance, Shivers felt that this at least suggested that even within the families themselves, there was no consensus about the Holy Grail. Perhaps it was this balance of power that allowed the secret to remain dormant for centuries until it was recently glimpsed by outsiders.

Thorn Manor might just be a microcosm of the attempts by various parties on the continent to replicate the legend, but the thought that each step of their exploration was built on the futile efforts of skeletons made it unbearably infuriating.

As they suspected, the room at the end was indeed a communal washroom, with large stone slabs stacked to the ceiling. Directly opposite the entrance, a stained-glass window made of three colors formed a rose pattern but didn’t actually serve any practical purposes for ventilation or lighting. It seemed to exist solely for decoration.

The washroom wasn’t large. The rectangular space was rigidly divided into two rows, with five small shower stalls, all with closed doors. After checking each one and finding no one inside, they confirmed the room was empty.

But the voices had definitely disappeared here.

As a historic dwelling of the Dwight family, Brandenburg had numerous hidden mechanisms and secret chambers refined over generations. Shivers was even more convinced that this washroom was a secret transit hub of the mansion.

It was a pity that Erica wasn’t here. Even generations of Dwight family heads probably couldn’t claim to know more about Brandenburg’s secrets than the steward. As the steward’s daughter, Erica had a deeper understanding of architecture than anyone in the Knights Order. Compared to a real castle, the mechanisms of this mansion wouldn’t be too complicated, but they lacked the time for a detailed exploration.

Yitzfa disliked the damp and gloomy environment and wasn’t keen on using his brain in areas that didn’t interest him. However, he felt it inappropriate to let his companion do all the meticulous searching of taps and brick joints alone, so he too wandered around somewhat aimlessly—initially just to show an “I’m also trying” attitude, but he did end up noticing some interesting things.

“Those rows of rooms in the corridor have door locks, right?” he suddenly asked quietly.

Shivers, who was closely examining a row of gargoyles on the wall, wasn’t paying attention to what Yitzfa was saying. “Hm?”

He turned around to see Yitzfa lightly examining the row of compartments along the wall, each fitted with a flap door. They had briefly checked them earlier. Aside from toilets, there was nothing else inside. But with Yitzfa’s comment, Shivers noticed something unusual.

From the main door to the compartments inside, none of the doors were fitted with locks.

Yitzfa stood straight, exhaled, and met Shivers’s slightly puzzled gaze, saying softly, “This is to ward off witches.”

He knew Shivers came from a good background and might not know much about this, so he explained gently, “It’s a rural superstition, usually not practiced by respectable noble families—people believe that witches smear themselves with oils at night to slip through keyholes and window cracks to perform harmful magic, and common thief deterrents are ineffective against them.”

“Not installing locks has two implications… One possibility is that they might be on friendly terms with a witch as a gesture of goodwill. The other is to prevent witches from entering, not fitting doors with locks or windows but instead applying holy water or placing sacred objects on windowsills and thresholds.”

Shivers frowned slightly. “That’s not quite the witches I’ve heard about.”

Real witches probably wouldn’t rely on oily methods to slip through keyholes. Not to mention the likes of Elena from the legends, even the witch in Mistress Daisy’s castle, who used powerful spatial magic—door locks were redundant to her, let alone doors themselves.

“So it’s a rural tale. Many ordinary girls have been accused of being witches based on various absurd theories. This has nothing to do with the genuine witches who wield magic.” Yitzfa mused for a moment. “Lestrop, coming from a royal lineage, wouldn’t likely believe in such rumors. If this setup is meant as a tribute, the research origin in the manor is probably related to witches, and the mechanism for the secret room’s entrance might also be connected. There are many totems associated with witches—cats, crows, rats could all be possibilities, but there’s too little decor here to suggest anything specific.”

As he finished speaking, both their gazes coincidentally focused on the only decorative piece in the room: the stained glass window.

Shivers pondered.

Totems…

He hadn’t mentioned to Yitzfa about Mistress Daisy’s castle. If this washroom was indeed related to the enwalled witch—

Yitzfa watched as Shivers approached the window, adjusting a piece of colored glass. It was indeed movable. He quickly shifted the pieces, focusing on the relatively sparse blue glass, slowly forming the shape of a book.

Once the last piece was in place, they held their breath, but the expected mechanism noise didn’t occur.

Yitzfa was disappointed. “Not this one?”

“No.” Shivers quickly turned him around to face the other way, letting him see the back of the door, where a dark, arched hole had appeared in the stone wall at some point.

“There are too many,” a slightly hoarse voice said. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“That’s the Master’s will,” another voice, younger but more stern, interrupted.

“Alright, just in case,” the last man said peaceably. “Just count. The Master will win.”

“Right, those tired cavalry won’t expect we’ve buried so many iron thorns ahead… Just wait.”

“What about the little ones from the other day?”

“They were sent to Elwick, but they’re too young. Not sure if they’ll survive.”

After a brief silence, several men walked into a very small room, so cramped that several adults could hardly stand. The man in front led with a large ring of keys, unlocking a door. Light immediately poured out, illuminating their surroundings, which looked like a small foyer with a round hand-woven rug on the floor.

Compared to the dark, narrow corridor, the room beyond was like another world—several lamps were on. In front of smooth, wooden paneled walls stood tall bookshelves, not filled with books but various shaped glass jars and delicate tools for refining herbs and spices. An elegant wooden table held a small writing desk, a color-coordinated shell chair was draped with a blanket, several polished floor candle holders stood in the corner, and a lute leaned against the wall.

Anyone seeing this room for the first time would think it belonged to a city clerk or a college professor—someone with long hair, spectacles on the nose, and a precise way of speaking.

But the tall man standing by the table wasn’t of that sort. Upon seeing him in the room, several men were so shocked that they dared not utter a word.

“Ma-Master.” The leader, with brown hair, bravely saluted him. “Mr. Foley has ordered us to come down to count and pack the medicine bottles.”

He bowed his body, not knowing why he dared not speak the latter part of his sentence, as if once spoken, it would curse the other party to surely fail and then pack up and flee.

It was rather inauspicious.

The man’s hawk-like gaze swept over them, and he responded with a very indifferent “hmm”.

The men felt as if they had been pardoned and didn’t dare to lift their heads as they maintained their bow and moved to a compartment by the bookshelves.

No matter how many times he saw it, the sight of these servants cowering always displeased Lestrop.

As the Earl of Mokwen, whether guards or attendants, everyone in his residence in the south was strictly disciplined and highly qualified—a stark contrast to the servants in this remote mountain manor.

This wasn’t only because he had to act low-key here, unable to openly develop his manpower, but also because this estate was left to him by his mother, and her family line had long since declined.

If it weren’t for its proximity to Ropappas City—close enough to that castle—he wouldn’t have chosen to focus his research here, far from his fief and too close to the royal capital.

Thinking of the royal capital, Lestrop’s face grew even more somber.

He and Tifa had long infiltrated each other with spies, but based on his understanding of his brother’s character, this conflict shouldn’t have come so soon, and the timing now was particularly inconvenient, adding to his irritation.

Tifa had always been snooping around here. He was likely startled by the appearance of the Lantern Bearers during winter, making him believe that the Holy Grail had indeed been successfully conceived here, prompting him to finally make his move.

Lestrop knew that Tifa had planned to use his birthday, when all the nobles gathered in the capital, to confront him, possibly imprison or even kill him, so he preemptively eliminated two of his most favored women, causing chaos. Unfortunately, Christine was accidentally involved, leading to a series of unplanned incidents that revealed the King’s murderous intent, yet here in the manor, he encountered another bottleneck…

He sat in the shell chair, his fatigue from traveling all night not hindering his thoughts. His fingers rhythmically tapped on the armrest.

He knew what Tifa was afraid of.

Indeed, not just Tifa, even he himself had thought they were close to success. As far as he knew, it had been over twenty years since the last appearance of the Lantern Bearers. These ghost-like immortals could bypass marshes and dense forests, ignoring spatial barriers in pursuit of the Holy Grail, but who could have expected this to be a false alarm?!

Though the Lantern Bearers eventually vanished, and the child didn’t survive, Lestrop firmly believed he had found the right direction to modify that mad woman’s potion, and no longer thought it necessary to rely on the former witch, who had lost her self-awareness.

As an Earl, he wasn’t interested in the little tricks played by the mad woman’s maid who took over the estate. The Southern Lord didn’t need a partially real, partially fantastical castle, and those seemingly delicate but actually illusion-corrupted girls didn’t meet his criteria, so he consciously ignored that research origin—but when he received reports of the castle’s collapse, he still felt somewhat uneasy.

He looked up at the materials and equipment on the bookshelf. All were moved untouched from that mad woman’s castle. The out-of-control spatial magic didn’t affect non-living materials. He was sure he had fully taken over the witch’s research on the Holy Grail and pushed it forward significantly, but it was still too slow.

He couldn’t wait, nor could Tifa, so the King finally, without any justification, sent troops to attack the manor, aiming to seize what he imagined was the key to controlling the world.

Absolutely ridiculous!

Even if the Holy Grail truly manifested, the weakling that Tifa was would only tremble under the iron hoofs of the Empire. He was unfit to wear the crown, let alone be the master of the world.

Lestrop was fully prepared, but Foley was a timid and cautious man, trembling as he managed the manor for so many years. Seeing the war about to start, he immediately thought of transferring the real treasures in the estate, which was understandable…

Lestrop disregarded the servants and came down alone to check on his valuables. Since Foley had already arranged manpower, it was time for him to go to the front lines.

Lestrop stood up and walked to the door. Suddenly, at the turn of the stone staircase behind the hall, there seemed to be a flicker of light, so fast it seemed like an illusion.

He stopped, turned back to look at the potion room where several male servants were, and squinted his eyes.

Although he had collaborated with a witch, he didn’t believe in magic, nor had he ever relied on the power of a mage to set up any surveillance or alarm systems in the estate, because he believed that keen perception and strong physical strength were more effective in helping him control the situation.

Like now, hadn’t he just noticed the rat that was carelessly let in by a negligent servant?

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