Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 99

Hall observed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s expression, but Charlie didn’t show any signs of surprise or guilt. In fact, he was so composed that Hall began to doubt whether he was overthinking things.

Shiloh and Hasting watched curiously. Until now, the shopkeeper had never mentioned his family or siblings to them—perhaps he had mentioned it to the Duke, but the two often conversed privately, and the knights couldn’t just intrude to listen. So, it was rare for them to hear about this, and both were very attentive.

If it wasn’t deliberate, Charlie’s rabbit head made it difficult to discern various expressions. He wasn’t stumped by Hall’s question, but he was amused by Shiloh and Hasting’s demeanor.

“I did have a brother a long time ago,” he said. “It’s not something I intentionally hide—but it really is a matter of the distant past. We did look alike as children, but we separated before becoming adults, and we haven’t been in contact since.”

Now it was the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s turn to observe the expressions of the three young men. He didn’t know if all members of the Brandenburg Knights were required to come from good backgrounds, but clearly those he knew well were privileged, well-educated young people. Probing into someone’s reluctant secrets wasn’t gentlemanly behavior.

The more historically significant and socially elevated the family, the more likely they were to have private matters, and after subtly expressing a bit of discomfort, even Hall became somewhat restless.

They were all capable, but unfortunately, still too young.

For a moment, the cunning rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt like a manipulative adult, even considering just letting the matter slide—but thinking about their unforeseen encounter in Fortuna City on their way to White Bridge, and the potential for similar incidents in the future, plus Miss Priscilla’s ‘Ceylon’ being a troubling issue, he decided against it.

There were no walls without wind, and there was no point in weaving a lie that would inevitably be punctured.

“But when we lived together years ago, that wasn’t his name,” Charlie said carefully. “Of course, after so long, he might have changed it, which I cannot confirm. Nor can I be sure the two men you encountered this morning were referring to him, or someone else who resembles me. After all, the continent is vast, isn’t it?”

Although Hall sensed Charlie’s evasive attitude, he couldn’t immediately think of a response. Charlie was right in his assumptions—although not an heir to a viscountcy like Shivers, his family was prominent in Lemena, and it was difficult for him to persistently uncover others’ scars.

“I don’t understand.” Shiloh blinked. “Why don’t you go look for him? Brothers should be together, shouldn’t they?”

Shiloh was less worldly than Hall. He simply drew from his own life experiences, naively thinking that family reunions were natural. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s attitude of “I have a brother I haven’t seen for a long time. He might be here or might not, and I’m not interested in knowing” baffled the baby-faced knight.

Charlie looked at them curiously, tilting his head. “That’s a nice thought. You must have a warm, harmonious, lovely family. Shiloh, do you have siblings too?”

This question made Hall feel uneasy, wanting to interject, but Shiloh had already eagerly responded, “Yes. Hasting has a brother, and I have two—plus a sister and a younger sister, though Hall has only sisters.”

Charlie nodded. “Sounds lively.”

Hasting caught on faster to the potentially evasive question from the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and looked at Hall with suspicion.

Hall’s expression was complex.

Then they heard Charlie calmly say, “My family might be a bit more unusual than most—there are few direct relatives left, and as for my brother, I didn’t even know if he was alive or dead before returning to Doran. He likely felt the same about me.”

“This status might be the most suitable for us. If there is an ideal outcome between us, it would probably be that we never see each other again until death.”

This unexpected statement silenced the three young knights for a moment before Shiloh cautiously asked, “Do you have some kind of feud?”

“Not really,” Charlie replied. “It’s related to my family. We are children not blessed. Relatives who truly cared about us made many efforts to protect us, and living apart was the best arrangement they could make. It has nothing to do with our feelings for each other. After all, staying alive is what’s most important, right?”

Shiloh opened his mouth, suddenly regretting starting this topic. The gravity of the discussion was completely unexpected.

He hadn’t considered that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper might be a bastard child. Frankly, it was common in wealthy and powerful families. There was even a trend in Pennigra where nobles bragged about the number and accomplishments of their illegitimate children, stemming from an Earl who had ignored a child for twenty years until the child invented a potion effective against the former Emperor’s chronic headaches, earning recognition. The Earl had then made a big show of adding him to the family tree and securing a well-positioned wife for him during that year’s social season, sparking other promiscuous nobles to look back at their overlooked “accidents” in hopes of finding a few who could make them stand out. However, Charlie’s last comment was more crucial: “staying alive”.

The seriousness of this issue seemed far greater than being ignored or unloved by parents, Shiloh thought. Could it be that their father’s or mother’s partner was very dominant and despised their existence?

Hasting and Hall thought deeper than Shiloh, especially Hasting, because he had always been close to the Duke and had heard quite a bit of their conversations, though he had never mentioned it to his companions.

“Our hometown is not far from here, and in the future, we might encounter some distant relatives from those days who would certainly not want to see me,” Charlie stated seriously. “For me, Elena is just an old acquaintance who has turned her face away. Even if I encounter her, it’s not a big deal. But those relatives would want my life the moment they see me, so if you are willing to keep my secret, I would appreciate it.”

Midnight.

The clouds were thick, covering much of the moon. Thankfully, the streetlights on the dock were still on. Although a bit old and not very bright, they managed to cast a round circle of light under each lamp post. Beyond that, it remained dark.

However, a few lights were still on by the roadside, belonging to shops still open—competing for time, all-night loading and unloading were common. They catered to workers who, after a cold night’s hard work, sweating and hungry, could potentially see all their stock bought up by generous employers as a reward after completion.

Erica didn’t ride a horse but walked towards the dock along the streetlights at a steady pace. If it weren’t for the inappropriate timing, she would have looked more like a leisurely strolling tourist.

Half an hour earlier, she had watched several cavalrymen ride off under the orders of the Countess. If all went well, they would reach the territory of Mokwen in a week.

As time passed, Miss Priscilla’s pregnancy symptoms became increasingly severe, making it difficult for her to adapt to sea travel. Thus, she disembarked immediately after docking at the port of Fortuna City. Meanwhile, news from home informed that the King of Mokwen had openly declared war against the Southern Lord, and Priscilla, far in Fortuna City, had already received news that both had been injured in battle. However, the Earl’s injuries had worsened rapidly, and at some unknown point, Tifa had garnered the support of several major nobles within the country, all sending troops—not to defend the royal capital but to point their swords south.

By then, anyone could guess what the King was using to bribe his allies. If the Southern Lord’s rebellion was confirmed, the fertile lands due to the old king’s favoritism and Tifa’s insecurities would be carved up like a piece of prime meat among hyenas.

Although she would have preferred Lestrop to be killed by an arrow on the battlefield, when it came to lands and property, Priscilla, after some thought, still decided to write a letter. However, it wasn’t directed to Thorn Manor or the south, but to Syriacochi.

The seemingly fragile lady said to Erica, “Mokwen must be rife with rumors now, and Tifa, with his weak character, is easily manipulated. Unless he can produce irrefutable evidence of Lestrop’s rebellion, he might sabotage himself from nervousness, perhaps even back down at the last moment, just as he had given Lestrop preferential treatment in terms of land and wealth when he first came to power. I must write a letter to the King, persuading Captain Sparry to send it back for me.”

Before leaving Lababata, Lestrop had left one of his confidants to escort Priscilla to White Bridge, a man deeply loyal to the Earl and one of the few he trusted.

“The Earl ordered him to protect you at all costs. He might not listen,” Erica said.

Because of Priscilla’s exceptional status, to avoid suspicion, Erica stayed with the Countess’ entourage disguised as a female doctor. Since she acted fairly and was favored by the lady, she was naturally able to care for her closely.

“Then tell him that this letter might preserve the Earl’s name and title,” Priscilla said. “Lestrop is obstinate and overly proud. For years, except for the King, several major nobles have been suppressed by him. Maybe he never considered that even ants can kill an elephant when gathered. I want to write two letters; one to the King saying my husband has committed unforgivable crimes, but I am pregnant, and the child is innocent. I ask that he spare him for the sake of his nephew.”

“And the other letter?” Erica asked.

“The content of the other letter is the same, but it should be sent only after confirming the Earl’s defeat—with the Earl’s family crest and my signature. The newspapers in the capital would pay a great deal for it,” Priscilla mused. “He can kill Lestrop, but he can’t kill me and the child in my womb—at least not openly. As long as the Countess’ pregnancy is public knowledge, even if the King revokes his titles later, the southern lands won’t easily fall into others’ hands.”

The premise was that she and the child could safely return to the country.

Previously, she had complied with Lestrop, even proactively offering to continue handling his affairs in White Bridge because she had sensed the imminent conflict between Tifa and Lestrop. Having only been in Mokwen for a short time and with an unstable foundation, it would have been difficult to protect the child should anything happen, so she thought of leveraging the child’s father’s power to ensure her safe delivery and return home.

Unexpectedly, her brother hadn’t left Doran but had instead transferred people from Lemena—among those who had infiltrated the entourage with Erica were two Brandenburg Knights.

Priscilla had to admit, even after getting married, having a husband and a lover, the people who could make her feel most secure were still those from Lemena and only from Lemena.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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.”

The author has something to say:

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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.

The author has something to say:

Sasha: Erica who?

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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?”

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