Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 73

The reports from Shivers and Erica arrived almost simultaneously.

Hasting, who was temporarily taking over as the Knight Commander, stood outside the door in contemplation.

It was nearing midnight. Since each bedroom was equipped with a small bathroom, the corridor was unlit. The young knight stood in place for a full five minutes without deciding to act.

Until someone came into the corridor—

“Whoa!” Charlie was startled and raised his hand to steady his top hat.

Hasting watched him quietly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked around suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

In the dead of night, standing in the corridor like a statue, suddenly startling someone.

Hasting said nothing, watching as Charlie clicked the light on the wall on.

The conditions here were much better than in Bonan Town or even Ropappas. One could use these lights that didn’t need to be lit with fire after registering. Places like Lemena, with better economic conditions, also used these kinds of lights. They contained a type of mineral that glowed upon contact with air. The airflow could be controlled by a valve to turn it on or off, with brightness similar to a candle.

In fact, Hasting didn’t need the light to see the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. His night vision was quite exceptional.

Seeing the shopkeeper’s gaze fall on his own chest, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper generously picked out a palm-sized bottle from his collection. “Want some?”

Hasting shook his head. Though Shivers was easygoing, he was strict with the knightly discipline, and drinking wasn’t allowed outside of vacations.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who had wandered out for a drink in the middle of the night, scratched his face and asked, “Are you on guard?”

If it was during work, he indeed shouldn’t drink.

Hasting shook his head.

“I have something to report to the Duke,” he said.

“I see.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper nodded. “Then I won’t bother you.”

He carried a bag of wine and jerky towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. As he turned to go upstairs, he saw from the corner of his eye that Hasting was still standing still.

Charlie: “???”

Hasting watched as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper came back the same way.

“Aren’t you going in?” Charlie gestured towards the duke’s door.

Hasting hesitated.

“The Duke has already gone to bed.” He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to wake the Duke at this time.

If it were Shivers or the old steward, they would definitely know what to do, but since both the Knight Commander and the Duke himself were still quite young and hadn’t thought about grooming a successor, Hasting, who was temporarily taking over, was somewhat at a loss.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s eyelids were heavy, but his naturally helpful nature made him curiously ask, “What do you need to see him for?”

“Erica’s letter.” Hasting replied subconsciously before realizing he might have been too honest.

In the next second, he watched, wide-eyed, as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper knocked on the door—an action so unexpected that Hasting didn’t even have time to stop him.

“If it’s about this, he’d want to know right away,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper added, seeing Hasting’s expression. “Don’t worry.”

Hasting: “…How much have you had to drink tonight?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tilted his head thoughtfully. “Just a little.”

So, he’s now apparently normal but actually a confused drunk… Hasting felt like a fool for seriously conversing with him.

Now, all he could do was pray that the Duke hadn’t been woken by the knock, but Hasting quickly stopped the rabbit-headed shopkeeper from knocking again. Before he could say anything, the door suddenly opened from the inside.

Dwight looked at them—Hasting was holding Charlie by both hands, while Charlie shook his head and tried to reach out his left hand to continue knocking at the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked coldly.

Hasting quickly released the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, only then realizing that the letter in his hand had been crumpled.

The Duke also saw the letters and noticed Charlie behind Hasting making faces, signaling him to pay attention to the letters.

“No one’s stopping you from speaking,” he said.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, “Hasting wouldn’t let me.”

Hasting cursed inwardly without showing any emotion on his face.

But as Charlie said, the Duke didn’t dwell on them disturbing him in the middle of the night. From his silent taking of the letters and walking back into his bedroom, it seemed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s judgment was correct.

But why was his judgment correct?

Hasting was puzzled—he had been chosen for the Brandenburg Knights at fourteen and had always been the Duke’s close guard. Although not as inseparable as the Knight Commander, he certainly spent more years with the Duke than most.

Could he really be so obtuse that someone who had only been in contact with the Duke for half a year understood better than him?

The young knight was a bit shaken.

The next second, something even more shaking happened.

Hasting saw the rabbit-headed shopkeeper look around and then also step into the Duke’s room!

How could he just stroll into the Duke’s room in the middle of the night?

…Something was wrong. The Duke wasn’t a sheltered maiden, but the important point was, no matter the time, one shouldn’t just enter the Duke’s room without permission!

Dwight seemed not to have realized how his knightly values were almost shattered.

If they were still in Brandenburg, he could certainly recite three hundred articles of noble etiquette and respond immediately to any potentially offensive actions.

But please, he had left Lemena several months ago.

During these months, he had slept in wind-leaking churches in disrepair, stayed in greasy farmhouses, and lost count of the nights spent under the stars in a carriage. Even the most pampered princess of the empire, after such trials, would surely forget such outdated rules as “ensuring you haven’t eaten strongly flavored food, haven’t exercised vigorously within two hours, change out of your coat and soft shoes before entering, and wait for an indoor response before the maid opens the door”.

Hasting hesitated outside the door for a while, then followed Charlie inside.

The lights in the room were turned on, and Dwight sat in a hard armchair, reading the letters. His expression was just as tense while reading both letters.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper conscientiously sat on the sofa, even patting the space beside him, signaling Hasting to come over as well.

Hasting didn’t want to deal with this drunkard and walked directly behind the Duke, maintaining a distance where he could assist immediately without being able to clearly see the contents of the letters.

So young, yet so staid.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper shrugged and casually piled up the stuff he brought on the low table in front of the sofa.

Because the magic stones were with Shivers and Erica, their letters were carried by carrier pigeons. Dwight wasn’t the first to receive the letters, but the contents they reported were important enough.

“Priscilla is pregnant.” Dwight put down the letters, his face changing.

If time were rolled back a few months, he would have been pleased to hear this news sitting in Brandenburg, and he would have prepared the most novel gift for his nephew to be sent immediately to the southern territories. Given the long journey, the gift might just arrive in time for the child’s birth.

But it just had to be now.

At a time when he had learned there was a group of lunatics in Doran trying to create a “Holy Grail”, Priscilla got pregnant.

Once she had a child, the possibility of her and Dwight returning to Pennigra would become extremely slim.

The Duke couldn’t help but feel a headache.

He was reluctant to assume that his brother-in-law (though he was reluctant to call him that) was also a member of that group of lunatics, but the astrologer’s response hung over Priscilla like a sharp blade, unsure when it would fall—and he had watched, helpless to intervene.

“You needn’t worry too much,” Charlie said, taking a moment to organize his words because of the alcohol. “We’ve discussed this, and Lestrop isn’t a fool to do something stupid. He wouldn’t joke about his own offspring.”

He emphasized the word “offspring” to remind him of the difference between the woman who died in the King’s room and the Queen, who, despite suspicions, remained unharmed.

“He better be that smart,” Dwight said coldly. “If he dares to do so, and Priscilla dies, he won’t live either.”

“Calm down.” Charlie, understanding how important this only remaining relative was to the young Duke, couldn’t help but soothe. “Even if things go to the worst step, Miss Priscilla will also…”

Before he could finish, Dwight flicked a finger, and a folded letter slid across the table, striking Charlie’s hand.

Charlie, puzzled, opened it and skimmed through it rapidly.

—Greetings.

From February 27 to March 1, a total of seven female bodies were exhumed. Based on the extent of skeletal deformations and the bloodstains on the burial shrouds, all were women who had recently given birth.

Thorn Manor remains as isolated as ever, making it difficult to inspect through external channels, and secretly sneaking in yields limited information because, besides their strong defensiveness, the farmworkers at the manor start at dawn and stop at dusk, rarely interacting even with the mansion.

According to a water seller, for some unknown reason, since February, the farm has further increased its isolation from the outside world. Day and night, people patrol around the mansion; one time, I even nearly encountered them in the forest at 1 in the morning.

But that time, they weren’t disposing of bodies. It seemed more like they were ensuring that no one was investigating that area of the forest… I covered my tracks well. I believe I wasn’t discovered.

…Yitzfa has also appeared in the city, and I am certain his target is that manor.

He’s trying to contact the manor through local upper-class connections. It is still unknown what secrets he’s interested in, but he seems determined to find out.

The latter part of the letter was a list of the city’s notables for reference only, and the backside was a rough plan of the mountain city hand-drawn by the Knight Commander, along with maps of the city, the manor, and the rivers.

Shivers wasn’t part of the last conversation between Dwight and Charlie, but he sharply sensed the subtle connections between several bizarre incidents since entering the Kingdom of Mokwen and the manor, and so listed some of his suspicions.

In the view of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, the most valued part of this report by the Duke were those suspicions.

The Knight Commander believed that regardless of the manor’s purpose in persecuting those innocent women, it undoubtedly failed, and since there were no other injuries or signs of poisoning on the women, he surmised that the only outcome of these failures was death.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 72

Yitzfa was undoubtedly a handsome young man.

The baggy shirt that Mrs. Doug’s butler had found for him on short notice hung loosely on his frame, making him appear somewhat fragile and painfully endearing.

Shivers watched indifferently as the ladies chattered away, each one eagerly suggesting various ways to dress up Yitzfa. The multitude of fashion ideas was dazzling.

Had he not been so confident in his own memory, the Knight Commander might have almost thought he had recognized the wrong person—not only because Yitzfa hadn’t shown any sign of recognition since entering, but also because this forlorn young man bore little resemblance to the last time he saw him at a grand lady’s banquet in Mokwen, where Yitzfa’s demeanor was that of a prized Persian cat.

Though his appearance hadn’t changed significantly, only the clothes and accessories were different, the impression he made was utterly altered, especially his flawless demeanor and manners. If it were someone else, they might start doubting their judgment or even wonder if this was actually Yitzfa’s lost twin.

But Shivers never put much stock in appearances. He believed that a person’s soul didn’t change with their outward appearance. Overemphasis on physical features could indeed cloud one’s judgment.

Just like his penchant for reveling in female attention for his good looks hadn’t changed at all, Shivers thought (not realizing he was doing much the same).

Meanwhile, he harbored doubts about Yitzfa’s motives for appearing here at this time.

Though they had met only once, given Yitzfa’s nonchalant familiarity with luxurious living and rare treasures, it was unlikely he had whimsically decided to play a game of stray dog in this remote mountain town.

Which kingdom’s capital would have idle noblewomen?

The mineral-rich Simis Kingdom, with its highly developed crafts, produced most of the continent’s finest and most luxurious adornments; the Raubna Kingdom, which monopolized the canals, was a hub for merchants from all over, where the latest and trendiest items could be seen; and the academic hub of Lafordzi, undoubtedly the artistic sanctuary of Doran, was home to the top academic institutions. Yitzfa, with his capabilities, could thrive in any of these major nations.

Yet here he was, in the same place as Shivers.

What was here to interest a Fox?

Aside from Thorn Manor, Shivers could think of nothing notable about this place—if Yitzfa was also targeting the manor, it only suggested that there were indeed significant issues at Thorn Manor.

Shivers couldn’t help but think about the physically demanding work he had been doing at night, which left his arms and legs sore.

Yitzfa sat on a velvet footstool. His slender jaw and neck gave him the appearance of a minor. Mrs. Doug had specially prepared a pot of salty milk tea for him, and everyone energetically encouraged him to drink it hot to sweat out any chill.

He seemed a bit shy, and his bewildered demeanor made all the ladies dote on him. Mrs. Doug had already decided to have him try on a coat tailored for her husband.

“That coat’s color matches your hair well,” Mrs. Doug said gently. “I think that shirt is still a bit thin.”

Shivers was considering whether to give him a private signal to talk, when the door was knocked, and a man with a meticulously groomed handlebar mustache followed the maid in.

“I told them, look—they don’t care. They just want to dress up that poor kid in all sorts of pretty clothes and feed him sweets. They won’t be satisfied until they’ve played with him like a doll.” The man laughed. “I came up, and sure enough, it’s exactly as I said. Ladies, please, let him warm up and then let him come down for a talk.”

Mrs. Doug pretended to be offended, retorting sharply, “What are you saying? The child was freezing. Of course, we need to dry his hair and put him in clean clothes. We’re not treating him like a doll. What are you planning to do? Call him down to sit in a smoke-filled room to listen to your talk, then cough up pneumonia?”

Her words clearly relieved everyone, and the ladies all laughed, including Mrs. Dolly.

Mr. Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Dolly and I asked him on the carriage. He’s here to find family. His sister supposedly works at a manor in the west suburbs—Mr. Carl from downstairs talked about expanding his vineyard with them last year. Maybe he has some connections.”

Hearing this, Shivers glanced at Mr. Peter and deliberately avoided looking at Yitzfa’s current expression.

“How do you feel, dear?” A lady holding Yitzfa’s hand asked with concern. “If you’re still cold, don’t mind them. We’ll take care of you. You can find your sister later, when you’re better.”

Yitzfa looked at her, then at Mr. Peter.

“I feel much better,” he said quietly.

Everyone understood his meaning and his desire to find his family, so they let Mr. Peter take him downstairs.

The Dougs’ smoking room was at the end of the hallway on the first floor, next to the study.

Sophisticated homes were designed for relaxation and privacy, with soundproofing and privacy measures in such rooms. If not invited, even making an excuse to wander the hallway now wouldn’t help overhear the conversation inside.

Mr. Peter didn’t invite Shivers, which didn’t surprise the Knight Commander—he was never very popular with his peers.

But there were other ways to manage the situation.

With Yitzfa gone, the ladies suddenly felt a bit listless, though they needed no prompting to enthusiastically continue discussing.

Mrs. Dolly, having been the first to encounter Yitzfa, naturally became the center of conversation, though she wasn’t very knowledgeable about her husband’s business dealings.

“He said on the carriage that his sister had sent word she could introduce him to a job in the city,” Mrs. Dolly explained. “But the poor boy had never traveled far, had little money, and after arriving here, found that his sister was no longer at the address given. Someone told him she had moved to the outskirts, but by then he was cold and hungry and had collapsed by the roadside.”

This conversation elicited sighs of sympathy from the ladies who had always lived in comfort, as they felt deeply for the hardship Mrs. Dolly described. Mrs. Doug, emotional due to her pregnancy, even had tears in her eyes.

“Poor child!” Mrs. Doug exclaimed. “So, he is homeless now?”

“No, Peter and I will take care of him. It’s nothing,” Mrs. Dolly said nonchalantly, yet her expression couldn’t hide a hint of pride—a common reaction when discussing financial matters, as her husband’s family was quite wealthy among her circle of friends.

In fact, one or two others present half-wanted to take Yitzfa in, of course, under the guise of “charity”.

For them, supporting Yitzfa was like owning a prized thoroughbred horse. The expenses were nothing compared to the accolades they’d receive in return.

Besides, in any country, a beauty like Yitzfa was highly sought after. It wasn’t often one encountered such a face, perhaps once in a decade, and those accustomed to the pleasures of life instinctively thought they should possess it while regretting why they weren’t the ones who found him first.

But since Mrs. Dolly had already expressed her intent to take him in, it would be quite unseemly for the others to dispute her claim.

Under a cloud of regret, someone brought up the old topic again, subtly inquiring whether Shivers had plans to extend his stay.

Shivers couldn’t help but laugh—he’d used the excuse of recovering from an illness contracted during winter travels to explain his temporary stay here, and he wasn’t the first to insinuate an invitation.

If he were truly just traveling, such suggestions might be considered, but he had pressing matters to attend to now.

He skillfully steered the conversation back to Yitzfa. “If he only knows about the manor in the suburbs, how do Peter and the others know which one it is exactly? There must be more than a couple of manors outside the city, right?”

“Oh, it’s like this. Peter was too embarrassed to speak plainly earlier,” Mrs. Dolly sipped her tea and explained. “Although we don’t know which specific manor her sister went to, except for Mr. Albert’s family, who went to sea, we pretty much have connections to ask around in the nearby manors. It’s a bit of a hassle to look for a working girl, but it’s not impossible. But Peter is worried that her sister might be in ‘that’ manor.”

Mrs. Doug’s face lit up, hiding her mouth behind her fan as she chuckled. “Oh my, not ‘that’ one, right?”

A lady curiously asked, “Which one are you talking about?”

“The one that never opens its doors,” another confidently said. “One autumn, Richard and some cousins went fox hunting, and it started pouring halfway through. I tell you, they were completely soaked.”

Since there was no place to shelter from the rain in the countryside, they had to follow the river, and they were overjoyed to see a manor. Hoping to borrow a bit of hospitality to dry their boots and cloaks, they approached the estate. However, the servant who answered the door didn’t even let them inside, even though they were willing to pay.

Frustrated, Richard and his group tried to seek shelter in the barns, only to find the peasants as rude and unreasonable as their employer, looking at them as if they were a bunch of thieves. Only a greedy middle-aged woman dismissed them with two waterproof cloths, in exchange for a well-made snuff box and a dead fox they had.

Soaked and muddy, Richard and his companions barely made it back to the city. He immediately complained to his wife, saying he had never been treated so rudely in his life.

Worse, the prolonged exposure to rain caused him to catch a severe fever, causing him to miss two important meetings. The loss in terms of money and energy was immeasurable.

“I’ve never heard of such a place.” Mrs. Doug widened her eyes in shock.

“In my opinion, they’re all a bunch of eccentrics. No need to deal with them,” concluded the lady. “If you’re looking for a job, that’s not a good place at all. You’d be better off coming to my house to organize hats.”

Her words resonated well, as the girls from Thorn Manor indeed often met tragic fates.

But surely, Yitzfa didn’t actually have a sister there. Shivers didn’t know what lies he had spun, but after these conversations, his motives were becoming very clear.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 71

Shivers deftly ran down the hillside along the path, his dark cloak rising behind him like a small flag.

Although it was still quite dark, he effortlessly dodged protruding old tree roots and thorny bushes, reaching a large oak tree where his horse from the journey was tied.

It was getting a bit late.

He mounted his horse, looked back at the woods once more, and confirmed in his mind that the digging tools had indeed been destroyed before he rode across the hedge, not looking back, and hurried towards the city.

Recent travels had made him very familiar with the road. Although he started later than planned, he still saw the city gates before dawn—a city built against a mountain, with stone walls spiraling up the mountain body, every thirty to forty steps marked by a square arch, but without doors.

This design was meant for ease of defense during war, as the narrow gateways allowed only two horses to pass abreast, and in emergencies, rows of barriers could be quickly dropped down, which was very convenient.

However, since the main city on the mountain had limited space and the population increased during a period of stability, the people began to expand outwards. These gates rarely used barriers anymore and gradually became a nuisance during peacetime. Not only did they restrict the width of flatbed carts used for delivering goods, but they also limited the size of wealthy people’s carriages.

But this greatly facilitated those with ulterior motives, like Shivers.

His speed was so fast that even though a few early-rising water carriers climbed the stone walls to look down upon hearing the rapid hoofbeats, they could only see a shadow flash by like lightning and then disappear into the darkness.

Vanilla Street was still asleep in the dawn light, with only one or two particularly meticulous large houses showing faint candlelight flickering, but the movements were very subtle, as if a silent ghost was wandering through the houses—those were early-rising maids, quietly taking care of pets and preparing everything needed for their masters to start the day.

Shivers led his horse into the stable attached to a two-story building. He didn’t light any lamps and fed the horse in the dark, then entered the house through the back door.

His hired maid’s room was near the entrance hall, so he didn’t disturb her.

By the time the plump middle-aged woman knocked on his door with a slice of bread, Shivers had already changed into his morning robe, looking as if he had just been woken up.

In another two hours, the handyman arranged by his landlord would come to clean.

Shivers sat by the bay window on the first floor, sipping tea with the curtains drawn high. The morning sun streamed through the glass, making his blond hair shine brilliantly, almost as if he himself was glowing.

This sight had recently become a hot topic in the neighborhood—after an early-rising cook saw it, the Knight Commander’s enhanced beauty spread quickly like a spilled cup of tea. A few days later, some high-born ladies and young misses even had their carriages detour past his door as a pretense of an afternoon outing, but most women, who typically rose in the afternoon, missed the spectacle.

No one could tell that this man wandered in the rural woods almost daily, constantly digging, making holes, and… examining corpses.

When he had passed by the manor with Eugene, he had learned of the wicked acts committed there. Many innocent lives were lost, and the riverside woods were a dumping ground for bodies.

Given the secluded nature of Thorn Manor, infiltrating it in a short time wasn’t feasible, so he instead rented a house in town to keep under the radar, spending several nights in the woods searching for the burial sites—he wasn’t a professional doctor, but his basic medical knowledge was enough to determine obvious causes of death and characteristics.

He had exhumed all the bodies he could find that weren’t buried too deeply. The difficulty of digging in winter, coupled with the low temperatures slowing down decomposition, allowed him to nearly figure out a common trait among the victims of Thorn Manor: they were all women, and most had given birth.

The Knight Commander lowered his eyes and seemed to be intently reading the morning paper spread out on the table, but in reality, he was fighting the fatigue from his late-night activities, trying to piece together more useful information, until the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the cleaning staff assigned by his landlord.

He had rented this house, situated at the edge of a wealthy area, under the guise of a traveler, and the landlord was a very rich merchant.

His wife, a naive woman of wealth, had easily agreed to temporarily rent out this unused house to him, likely charmed by his handsome blond hair. She also generously provided a cook-maid and, additionally, a day laborer for cleaning, paid by the day.

This arrangement was somewhat modest, but Shivers’ persona as an unknown traveler made it seem reasonable and also reduced the risk of being discovered during his nocturnal outings.

The maid who originally came to help was a round-faced brunette young girl, but for some reason, she was replaced by the current middle-aged woman after two days.

Women’s excessive enthusiasm was no surprise to Shivers. To some extent, he was quite adept at leveraging this favor—however, he maintained that he was different from those who explicitly traded charm for a luxurious life. If it weren’t for work factors, he would rather engage in a purely romantic journey with women, unrelated to benefits.

But extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

The maid added a small portion of salt-flavored baked biscuits and also handed him a letter brought by the janitor: from his landlady.

The generous woman had just become pregnant, so her emotions were somewhat unstable, often needing the comfort of friends, thus almost daily hosting semi-formal tea parties at her home, which were quite lively.

Her undisturbed husband had found a reason to leave town, leaving the domain to a group of chattering women, intensifying the wife’s activities—this was the third invitation Shivers had received.

Inviting a single male tenant to a women’s tea party was somewhat inappropriate, but the landlord couple didn’t mind.

Having a knightly title, Shivers understood why—the landlady was essentially a naive woman, eager for joy. Her enthusiasm for the handsome tenant was probably not entirely romantic but more akin to the excitement of showing off a prized pet to all her friends.

Moreover, these gatherings weren’t exclusively attended by Shivers. There were also several couples present, so even though Shivers’s handsome appearance stirred quite a discussion in their social circle, the landlord made no comment.

Typically, male guests would play cards in the smoking room during the tea party, while Shivers was often invited to sit at the ladies’ table for conversation.

This arrangement was somewhat unconventional, but since it was a private, informal gathering and not widely publicized, no one made a fuss about it.

As a gentleman, Shivers didn’t mind chatting with a few ladies. Unlike most men, he didn’t consider frequent tea parties to be a wasteful extravagance.

After all, it was because men imposed too many restrictions on their wives and daughters, not allowing them to engage in truly meaningful work, and then turned around to criticize them for being idle.

Because of Erica, Shivers was well aware of the heights women could reach, so even though he knew their attitudes weren’t entirely serious, he wasn’t upset by it—especially since he genuinely found women charming and didn’t mind being used as a way to pass the time.

Unlike some shameless individuals who swindled women’s wealth.

Shivers was reminded of the Fox he had seen at the banquet.

That man’s haughty demeanor was eye-opening. Shivers had never seen anyone manage to be so choosy and arrogantly reliant on someone else’s support.

This was a bit unusual for Shivers, who adhered to chivalrous values. He preferred to go along with their conversations, telling amusing jokes to make them laugh…

“Green?” Mrs. Doug interjected, puzzled.

Shivers came back to his senses, showing a warm smile.

“What were you thinking about?” Mrs. Doug gently tapped his hand with her fan.

“I was thinking that the rain came quite suddenly, hoping Mrs. Dolly and the others brought umbrellas so they wouldn’t get wet,” he said softly.

Mrs. Doug’s slight displeasure immediately dissipated, and she also looked out the window. “Yes, it’s going to get colder again with the rain… How strange today is. Dolly and Peter are never late.”

This was Green’s second time attending their tea party, but Mrs. Doug wasn’t surprised he had already remembered all her friends’ names—even though he didn’t have a title and his finances seemed slightly strained, this charming tenant was a true gentleman.

Mrs. Doug felt a bit proud. She kept her house well-maintained, never allowing it to look old and neglected due to disuse, for which her husband paid extra each year for lawn care and indoor cleaning, but it was well worth it.

Didn’t Green choose her house for this very reason?

This young traveler was suave and well-traveled, and Mrs. Doug could hardly keep herself from bragging about this handsome tenant to all her friends, except for those who were particularly outrageous and liked to stir up trouble; she did not want them doing anything indecent at her dignified tea parties, leading Mr. Green to think her friends were of that sort.

“Isn’t that Dolly’s carriage?” Another lady sitting by the window suddenly spoke up, pointing outside.

The Doug residence faced the street, and, as the male homeowner preferred an unobstructed view, the front yard had no vegetation blocking the sightline. Hearing this, everyone looked and saw a small ebony carriage turning the corner and heading their way.

“It looks like it. I thought they wouldn’t come because of the rain,” said the lady who first noticed the carriage, her tone a mix of happiness and regret.

“They must have been caught in the rain halfway here,” Mrs. Doug whispered, instructing her maid to prepare a pot of hot pepper tea to prevent her friends from catching a cold on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, the maid came upstairs and quietly informed the mistress that Mr. and Mrs. Peter had brought an extra guest.

Mrs. Doug was surprised. “She didn’t say she would bring someone—”

The maid explained, “It was unexpected. Mrs. Dolly met that poor boy on Third Street, completely drenched and shivering… Mr. Peter rescued him into the carriage and brought him straight here.”

“If that’s the case, please ask the butler to prepare appropriate clothes for that poor soul and bring up some wine and toasted bread. They will need it,” Mrs. Doug said, then turned to look at her guests.

“I should go downstairs,” she declared.

The ladies quickly persuaded her to stay put—under normal circumstances, the hostess would indeed go downstairs to greet them, but since she was pregnant, it was best not to move around too much. Dolly was an old friend and wouldn’t mind such a small matter.

Moreover…

“Who knows if the stray dog they picked up might have fleas?” one lady said with a laugh, covering her mouth with her fan.

The remark was a bit harsh, but it sent the women into giggles.

However, when Mrs. Dolly came upstairs, everyone composed themselves, and even Mrs. Doug didn’t appear too curious.

Mrs. Dolly was a petite woman with a high-pitched voice, unaffected by the sudden change in weather, and hurried through the hallway into the room.

A boy with an exceptionally delicate appearance followed her, his golden hair still not fully dry, hanging around his cheeks. His large, round eyes were mistier than the rainy streets.

The room fell silent for a half second before suddenly becoming enthusiastic. The lady who had made the “flea” comment leaned forward eagerly, asking, “What happened?”

Mrs. Dolly couldn’t help but glance at Mrs. Doug with a slightly smug look. “This poor child was freezing and homeless. My goodness, what could I do? If I had left him there alone, my conscience wouldn’t allow it. Peter felt the same, so we brought him along.”

The boy seemed startled by the situation, and upon closer inspection, he was still shivering—he turned his pleading eyes towards the only man present.

Shivers spit all the tea he was sipping back into his cup.

Because this poor, chilled little “puppy” was none other than Yitzfa.

Kinky Thoughts:

I kind of ship Shivers and Yitzfa…

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 70

The Duke was disinterested in everything, so when they left the second floor and entered the herbal trading area, he secretly sighed with relief.

This level had a certain technical barrier. Most were chefs from wealthy kitchens, along with apothecaries and mages—a group not only scarce in number but each more eccentric than the last. Everyone was somewhat wearing something to cover their faces, but all had an antisocial, silent, and gloomy temperament, meaning that despite wearing rabbit decorations, no one would approach them to strike up a conversation.

“I did quite well in herbology. While at school, I developed a very effective hair growth tonic, which made my first fortune,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mentioned.

He stocked up on some basic medicinal powders and some local raw materials here. While they looked ordinary separately, some non-magical materials could produce effects rivaling magic when mixed and processed by someone knowledgeable. This was why potion-making was one of the lowest barriers to entry in magical studies.

Watching him enthusiastically crouch down to pick through dried herbs, Dwight looked around impatiently and suddenly noticed something reflecting light in a pile of goods in front of an old man.

It was a stall selling animal materials, and the scruffy old man seemed utterly indifferent to his business. A worn-out cloth, indiscernible in color, was spread on the ground, haphazardly piled with broken bones, lizard tails, eyes from unknown animals, cockroach powder, and dried bats.

The Duke stepped closer—he saw it again. Something in that pile of dark, dried bats flickered, like the reflective eyes of an animal at night.

But undoubtedly, everything on this stall had long been dead.

Hasting, keeping an eye on the Duke’s actions, stepped forward to take a closer look too.

Although he couldn’t see anything special about these items, he still followed his master’s lead, shuffled through the small pile of dried bats, and then saw the Duke point at one particularly small dried bat.

Hasting: “……”

That meant he wanted to buy it.

No words could describe the turmoil in his heart at that moment, considering the proud Duke of Brandenburg was someone who could refuse to eat anything cooked by a chef he deemed unattractive.

Not to mention that the group of dried, shriveled animal bodies was unsightly, the stall’s scruffy owner, whose hair and beard were tangled together, was enough to make the well-acquainted Duke throw a significant fit.

Dwight saw Hasting not moving and nudged him on the arm to hurry him up.

Coming to his senses, Hasting spoke to the old man in the common tongue to ask for the price.

The stall owner, a drunk with a pungent smell of hangover, squinted through bleary eyes and couldn’t make out which item Hasting was pointing at. He simply took two copper coins and allowed him to take his pick.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had at some point come over and watched Hasting carefully wrap a dried bat in a handkerchief, somewhat surprised, but didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t until they left the building that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked the Duke if he planned to brew a potion—ordinary potions usually use processed powders or extracts, whereas magical potions might require whole dried animal carcasses.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dwight said. “I just thought there was something odd about it.”

Charlie pinched the rigid little claws of the dried bat, lifting it to inspect.

“I can’t see anything unusual,” he said.

Dwight hesitated for a moment.

At the herbal market, that dried bat indeed gave him a feeling akin to “being watched”, and it happened twice. He didn’t believe it was his imagination.

But now, closely examined under the sunlight, what the rabbit-headed shopkeeper held was indeed just a black, sun-dried dead bat.

“I can’t explain it,” the Duke said slowly. “Just now, I felt like it was watching me.”

Hasting exchanged a surprised look with Charlie.

“Then keep it,” Charlie decisively said. “Take it back and put it in water to test.”

Dwight glanced at him, somewhat surprised.

Originally, he thought Rabbit Head would use this opportunity to tease him about hallucinations or something.

Charlie fumbled in his shopping bag, trying to find waterproof parchment to wrap the dried bat for Hasting, but instead pulled out the two-colored flier they received upon entering. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “Ah!”

“We forgot the raffle,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, holding the flier carefully. “Remember that wooden archway? We bought stuff… Well, maybe we could win a small bottle of bedbug juice.”

The Duke warned him, “We’re not going back.”

They had already walked quite a distance from that building, and Dwight was unwilling to return just for bedbug juice, especially since it was now the hottest part of the day and even a mask was cooler than a cloak.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked and had to compromise.

Dwight still wasn’t done. “A bottle of bedbug juice isn’t worth making such a fuss over.”

“Speaking of gems, there really are such things here.” Charlie suddenly remembered. “The antique and jewelry market.”

“What good can there be in such a place?” the Duke continued his lecture. “Nothing but the inheritance of country widows or poorly made jewelry. Please restrain your provincial demeanor.”

“Yes, you must have seen many fine things,” Charlie drawled. “But it’s our first time here. Maybe there’s some exotic treasure you haven’t seen?”

“I’m here for the first time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t own things from here.” The three arrived where carriages were parked, and the coachman, who had been waiting under the shade, quickly came forward to take their things and stack them in the luggage rack at the back of the carriage.

“Shivers’ scabbard material comes from Doran, made from the skin of a deep-sea monster that stretches freely, reducing the volume of a long sword to a third when sheathed,” the Duke said as he removed his mask and boarded the carriage, his expression somewhat aggrieved.

“No wonder I’ve often wondered where he keeps his sword,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mused.

Pennigra had only a small territory that touched the sea and was located at the far western edge of the continent, indeed farther from Lemena than from Doran.

“There are also the purest crystal potion bottles from Gantia, which preserve the potion’s properties without degradation for thirty years,” the Duke said languidly. “The dragon leather boots I wore when we set off also came from Doran.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper finally looked at the Duke with slight surprise.

Indeed, dragon leather boots weren’t actually made from dragon skin—dragons had been missing from the continent for over two hundred years, and even if these enormous creatures hadn’t gone extinct, they wouldn’t be something humans could simply skin.

“Dragon skin” was a general term for the highest quality of tough leather, probably because the most ostentatious nobles would rather not refer to their boots and gloves as “Polymountain Ironscale Four-legged Snakeskin Gloves” or “Deep Sea Cyclops Sharkskin Boots’.

Whichever it was, any leather product that could be called dragon skin was inherently expensive. What surprised Charlie even more was that many of the Duke’s possessions indeed came from Doran.

He was certain that before their time in Maplewood, this lord had never set foot outside the continent of Pennigra.

Charlie turned to look at Hasting.

The knight, who was sitting with his arms crossed by the window, originally didn’t want to speak but couldn’t resist the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s unrelenting gaze and glanced at the Duke.

Dwight hummed softly.

“Brandenburg and White Bridge have a VIP agreement, and each year’s auction catalog is sent to Lemena in advance,” Hasting explained.

At the mention of “White Bridge”, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper paused.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it.” Dwight raised an eyebrow.

Charlie adjusted his top hat. “Of course, I know. It’s a notorious lawless zone in Doran, the biggest den of vice.”

White Bridge wasn’t a bridge but a city—or rather, it couldn’t truly be called a city. A more fitting description would be a lawless zone. In White Bridge, no royal or rule could be enforced, and no armed forces were allowed, no matter who they were. Legend had it that fifty years ago, due to the sale of an elven slave within its limits, the elf’s tribe’s army besieged the city, but the conflict was extinguished as silently as a candle dipped in water.

It hosted the largest opium dens and banks, but it was more famous for an auction said to sell anything.

Give a beggar enough wealth, and he could buy a kingdom from White Bridge, becoming a king.

The Duke’s peculiar items likely came from the White Bridge auction.

Due to the area’s uniqueness, White Bridge didn’t accept jurisdiction from any empire or power. The Wolf family, one of the Black Gold Families, rose to immense wealth through these auctions, wealthy enough to rival nations.

The profit-driven Wolves were infamous. There was nothing they couldn’t procure if the price was right. If there was one place in the world where one could trade, it would be at a Wolf auction.

White Bridge was a true city that never slept, with auctions big and small running year-round, but the truly influential Wolf auction happened only once a year, drawing many attendees. Only there could one’s wildest imaginations of treasures and monsters be fully indulged.

Dwight had thought that, given Charlie’s way of doing things, he would be eager about the White Bridge auction—he even prepared to reject his whimsical suggestions outright.

But the rabbit-headed shopkeeper merely nodded, not continuing the conversation on that topic.

Even Hasting was surprised by this.

Though they hadn’t been together long, Hasting knew that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper possessed many quirky gadgets, as demonstrated by his enthusiasm in the general goods market.

The Knight Commander had once told him that this mysterious Mr. Rabbit had “an endless array of bizarre ideas”.

For someone like that to show disinterest upon hearing about possibly the world’s largest auction was indeed abnormal.

Hasting, being straightforward, voiced his inner question directly.

Charlie looked at both Hasting and Dwight—they were both watching him.

“It’s not that I dislike auctions. I just don’t like the name Wolf,” he said honestly.

“Do you have a history with them?” the Duke immediately asked.

“Not exactly a history.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper shrugged nonchalantly. “Isn’t it natural for rabbits to dislike wolves?”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 69

“Did you foresee something like this happening, and that’s why you insisted on coming no matter what?” Dwight stood with his arms crossed. The road was still muddy from last night’s rain. Many people avoiding carriages squeezed onto the unpaved roadside, which greatly pressured the Duke, who wasn’t accustomed to crowds.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him to actually come here—though he knew Rabbit Head just wanted to use his carriage and knights. The other’s incessant chatter really made his head spin. The Duke felt immediate regret the second he agreed, but it was already too late.

“What do you mean?” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked with a politely inquiring expression.

The Duke stared at something in his hand.

It was a small, white half-face mask made of thin silver sheets. It wasn’t the finest craftsmanship and was unadorned with jewels, except for a red outline around the eyes.

“I just think its design is quite nice.” Charlie handed it to him. “The weather is really nice today. Wearing a cloak would be a waste. And look, everyone is wearing masks.”

In fact, that was an exaggeration. They were standing at the entrance of an outdoor market, which featured a carefully constructed large straw archway decorated with flowers and vegetables. There were already two or three small stalls on either side of the arch, selling things like masks, hoods, and bonnets—all themed around rabbits.

However, not many here wore such items. It was about half and half.

“An outstanding appearance is a gift from heaven, but given the circumstances, it’s best we keep a low profile. Look, I’ve even bought one for Hasting.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper then produced another item. It wasn’t a mask, but a hat decorated with two long ears.

Dwight glared at the hat for a while, then reached for the mask.

The crudely made mask was hard to accept, but the hat with ears was even more ridiculous.

Charlie wasn’t lying. Indeed, many people at the scene were wearing rabbit-related decorations, and a mask that obscured his face was actually quite suitable for him.

Although he felt it was foolish to wear such decorations outside of a costume ball, he didn’t want to relive the elf riots, which was one of the reasons he had been avoiding going out.

Seeing the Duke actually put on the mask, Hasting was internally thunderstruck. Although his face remained expressionless, his slightly reclining posture honestly reflected his resistance to the rabbit-eared hat.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, apparently oblivious to his deep resentment, cheerfully stuffed the hat at him. “There, that’s better—perfectly blending in.”

Although the weather was still quite cool, the frequent rains left the air feeling sticky and thick, making it uncomfortable to wear a hooded cloak due to poor ventilation.

Hasting had no need to conceal his face, and since even the Duke had accepted it… the young knight resignedly jammed the hat on his head without much fuss.

Of course, they didn’t plan to buy any farm tools or seeds. If there were rare elven crop seeds, it might be worth a look, but the market’s arch was like a ready-made menu, and the seeds sold inside were likely reflected in the “samples” on display above. Most people entering this arch were middle-aged or elderly farmers, a demographic not often seen wearing rabbit decorations.

The first market was a large open square that was already crowded with various stalls early before the sun was fully up. Stall owners had tried every trick to make their spots more visible. Some had bright cloth tents; others had makeshift scarecrows of shovels and pitchforks, creating a lively atmosphere from a distance.

The second market was located directly behind the square in a spacious, three-story stone building that looked like a small monastery or school.

The building’s entrance also featured a decorative arch made of wood, shaped like a square, with many genuinely pullable small drawers.

A flamboyantly dressed, attention-seeking individual stood under the arch, handing out flyers, his tone overly enthusiastic.

This market saw significantly more people wearing rabbit decorations. Even Charlie’s rabbit head became less conspicuous here, attracting at most a few extra glances from people curious about the craftsmanship of his headgear.

Charlie and Hasting each took a flier (the Duke didn’t even glance at the clown) and looked them over as they walked.

Dwight didn’t believe that such a folk market could have anything of value. He acknowledged that the size of the market was unusual, but not enough to pique his interest. However, the colors of the flier in Charlie’s hand did catch his attention.

It was a two-color flier, one side bright yellow and the other deep purple. In Pennigra, dyes were mostly made from minerals, and purple was rare.

Here, it was used to dye a handout flier, which could be considered a rare local product.

But as rare as it was, it wasn’t worth the Duke’s time to trade, so he only gave it a brief look before turning away.

The content of the flier, however, intrigued Charlie. The three-story building was naturally divided into sections: the first floor housed large, cumbersome equipment and miscellaneous items; the second floor featured handicrafts; and the third floor was the spice market.

The purple-dyed back of the flier also listed some promotions: shoppers could receive price tags from vendors, and based on these tags, they could exchange for gifts at the gate upon returning—the gifts were inside the wooden arch, with each small drawer containing something. The more you spent, the higher and more valuable the gift you could obtain.

The flier described some of the gifts in an exaggerated tone, such as a rare, deadly porcupine quill or powder made from a giant deep-sea pearl.

Many residents from nearby towns gathered on the first floor, which was frequented by people of all ages. Most sellers were carpenters, and many buyers were young couples planning to furnish their homes.

The three of them avoided this crowd and headed to the second floor, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s main destination.

Charlie thrived in such a bustling environment. If not for the Duke’s watchful eye, he could have disappeared within ten seconds. Dwight, having no shopping goals, had to quickly follow the enthusiastic Rabbit Head.

On the contrary, it was even harder for Hasting to follow the Duke. For some reason, after reaching this floor, more people noticed him. Just a dozen steps in, several girls and boys (?) deliberately brushed against him or threw flirtatious glances, and some even directly stopped him to say hello.

Hasting, annoyed, took advantage of the Knight Commander’s absence to abandon his usual decorum. He wore a stern expression and ignored everyone as he hurried to catch up with the Duke, whose back was all that remained in sight. At times like these, he greatly admired his captain, who alone managed to maintain composure and stay close to the Duke without fail.

When Charlie finally stopped to carefully examine a stall selling handmade harmonicas, Hasting breathed a sigh of relief—at the risk of losing them, he was just about to really lose sight of them.

The Duke, showing only his chin under the mask, was quite eye-catching, but his aura of unapproachability was so strong, and he never made eye contact with anyone, so he wasn’t bothered much.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper finished paying and looked back to see Hasting looking disheveled, which made him blink.

“What’s wrong?” He considerately stopped moving forward to give the young man a chance to catch his breath.

Once they stopped, things got even more troublesome. A bold brunette girl directly blocked their path, inviting Hasting to taste the jam she brought to trade today.

“No, thank you,” Hasting kept saying, trying to move past her towards the Duke, but then another girl approached.

Though smiling, the young knight was nearly at his breaking point—he would have preferred these to be enemies, as dealing with them would have been much less troublesome with a punch each!

“Alright, alright.” Having enjoyed the spectacle enough, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper gently pushed the shoulders of the two girls aside and swiftly took off the hat from Hasting’s head.

Strangely enough, this action was more effective than anything Hasting could have said. The girls stared at them for a while and then stormed off, huffing.

“What’s this about?” The Duke, who had been watching from a distance, finally spoke. If he hadn’t understood before, Charlie’s actions now would have made even a fool sense something was amiss.

Trying to suppress his laughter, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper straightened Hasting’s clothes and casually stuffed the hat into the cloak’s hood.

“I’m not quite sure myself.” Charlie feigned ignorance. “I just made an educated guess… Oh dear, don’t get agitated.”

Dwight placed his hand on his cane—a rare occurrence, but every time it indicated that the Duke was tempted to handle things personally.

“I’m as new here as you are and truly don’t understand the customs.” The rabbit-head shopkeeper, seeing Hasting’s distressed state, finally felt a bit guilty and raised his hands. “Both of you, do you know what ‘March Rabbit’ means?”

The Duke’s eyebrows furrowed under his mask, while the Brandenburg knight looked confused.

“March is the mating season for rabbits,” Charlie explained with a smile. “I only realized it after coming here. The reason this market is called the March Rabbit Market might not only be because it’s the first large-scale trade of the spring, but it might also imply a venue for young people to meet for romance.”

By the heavens, this time the shopkeeper was telling the truth.

When he bought these items at the entrance of the first market, his intention was indeed to hide the Duke’s face, and for Hasting, he simply thought the young man, always so stern, would look cute in the hat—after all, if the Duke wore one, this young knight would surely comply.

Only along the way did he vaguely realize that the rabbit decorations might have another meaning.

In fact, all three of them were observant of their surroundings, but while the Duke and Hasting watched for suspicious activities, Charlie’s observations were more touristic. Hence, he noticed that most wearing rabbit decorations were young men and women, with a few middle-aged people, which combined with the name ‘March Rabbit’, suggested that wearing decorations meant one was single and approachable.

He hadn’t anticipated that, unlike Shivers and Shiloh, who were like fish in water among women, Hasting would be so honest and helpless when surrounded by enthusiastic girls, prompting him to intervene.

As for why he and the Duke weren’t subjected to such awkward situations, it was purely because of the girls judging by appearances.

The rabbit-head shopkeeper, whose face was hardly visible and who had a combative demeanor, and the Duke, who covered half his face and ignored everyone, weren’t as appealing as the handsome Hasting.

Hasting, suffering undeserved misfortune, remained silent, thinking to himself that the Knight Commander was a lair. This rabbit-headed shopkeeper was definitely not a good man.

Although the goods on this floor were varied, truly exquisite items were rare, and magically effective items were even scarcer and very expensive, almost only serving as promotional displays, likely to remain unsold until the end of the gathering.

Based on his observations of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, Dwight expected him to hunt for quirky, peculiar, and surprising gadgets. However, after a complete round, the purchases he made weren’t special—just things like whistles and small spray bottles packed into a bag.

It was Hasting who found something worthwhile. He purchased finely ground toxic lizard bone powder and a small jar of unusually colored animal fat for weapon maintenance at a blacksmith’s stall.

Although it was unclear from which animal the fat was derived, everything at the modestly sized stall, such as pots and knives, was of good quality.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper initially wanted to buy some fat too but quickly realized that he no longer needed to maintain Columbus, so he refrained.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 68

Two plump gray sparrows landed on the balcony, huddled close together. Their mung bean-sized eyes were unblinkingly fixed on two tall men a few steps below.

One of them was a gray-haired man with hair so short that his scalp was almost visible, a dagger at his waist, and a face that children would steer clear of. A long scar stretched from his neck to his shoulder, hidden beneath the collar of his loose coat.

He had been standing here all morning. His tense features were only slightly relaxed during the brief conversations when his companion came to switch shifts—only slightly.

“Old Chuck has gone back.” His companion handed him a wooden flask about the size of a palm, filled with high-concentration fire ant liquor.

In fact, this liquor has nothing to do with ants. It was a high-concentration beer mixed with several kinds of mildly toxic animal bones. Each sip felt like a fire ant crawling from the mouth to the stomach, hence the name.

Locals weren’t used to this intensely stimulating liquor. Only those with numbed nerves like drunks and mercenaries like them from the north enjoy it—it quickly warmed the body and was very invigorating.

The gray-haired man had been on guard all night, and the early spring night was still very cold, making this drink just right for him.

He uncorked the flask and took a sip, feeling his somewhat stiff organs slowly awakening.

“He should have gone back already. That leg of his becomes useless in winter,” he said nonchalantly. “How old is he? Forty? Forty-five?”

In their line of work, physical fitness was fundamental. Once someone was injured beyond full recovery or got too old, they were no longer suitable to stay in the team.

“I don’t know. At least forty,” the relieving companion said. “Actually, he’s not old. It’s just that his leg isn’t good. If he was still here, he might have fallen behind during this journey.”

Their current employer, although generous, also emphasized discipline. The boss tested the waters twice; he wasn’t a naive sucker, so there wouldn’t be any special treatment for Old Chuck.

It just so happened that some of them were heading back north, and Old Chuck went along with them.

Having worked together for years, both felt somewhat melancholic about their companion’s retirement and unusually engaged in a longer chat—but they were cautious, never using the common language for private conversations, especially since it was still dark and there were few people around.

Gray-hair nodded. “Xina will be happy.”

His companion laughed. “Bullshit. Xina is going to shove him out the door with a shovel—what can he do when he gets back? Help Xina plant potatoes? Bol has grown up and can help Xina with the work. And how much can you earn from planting potatoes? It’s not even enough for him to drink well for a year here.”

“Then let him work for Xina, and Bol can come out and follow us,” Gray-hair said nonchalantly. “Bol is seventeen now, right?”

He himself had done just that—after his father died in battle, he filled the gap and never returned home.

There was a saying in their squad: either drink with joy or be carried home dead—Old Chuck retired without dying, but in the eyes of mercenaries, retiring due to injury or illness was as good as dead. Only those with families made such a choice.

Like Gray-hair, those who ventured out as young bachelors often ended up dead in battle or drunk.

But they were still young. It was too early to think about such things.

His companion scoffed. “Bol won’t do, Old Chuck has complained many times that his eldest son is too timid to see blood. But I did hear something funny last time.”

He leaned a bit closer to Gray-hair and lowered his voice. “Bol’s first love was a disaster because he fell in love with a Lioness.”

Gray-hair was slightly startled. “What about him?”

His companion shrugged. “That’s why I say he’s a stupid kid… They all have extreme tastes. They either like the strong or the very good-looking, and Bol is neither. No one even takes him seriously. I also heard there’s a new recruit coming out soon. Maybe Bol’s first love is one of them. That naive village boy shouldn’t be dreaming.”

Though theoretically they all belong to the Lion family, only the management cadres could bear the Lion’s name.

As famous as the fierce reputation of the Lion family’s mercenary group was their all-female leadership—unlike the matriarchal society structure of the lion prides on the savannah, the Lion family didn’t have a “male lion”. All rulers had been women, and thus, men comprised less than 10% of the middle and upper management.

In their north, girls entitled to bear the Lion’s name were cadet officers. Such people would never marry a simple potato farmer, and Lionesses weren’t the type to just lie in their dens and control remotely. They prefer to take action and patrol their territories.

This spring just coincided with a coming-of-age ceremony for the young Lions, where eligible and qualified young women from the family were set loose on the continent to hunt for power and mates.

The family provided little support during this stage, but once the trial was passed, one could secure a place in the family hierarchy—the current family head, Adeline, became a regiment commander immediately after her adulthood trial and took over the highest family authority ten years later, a record still unbroken.

“Is the boss going to ‘White Bridge’ also because of the new recruit?” Gray-hair couldn’t help but associate it with something the boss had mentioned.

“Probably not. That’s the territory of the Wolves. They wouldn’t place a new recruit’s trial there. Must be some other important matter.” His companion finished the last sip of fire ant liquor and handed the flask back to Gray-hair. “Probably some messy big event. They love doing that, but it’s none of our business—return the flask to Old D for me. He was reluctant to lend it to me…”

After drinking a small bottle of liquor, both men felt warmed up. Gray-hair moved his stiff body from the night watch, pinching the flask as he walked away.

Their current employer was quite wealthy and loved pomp, even arranging people to stand guard at the door of the house. Privately, they all found such behavior ridiculous. Did they think they were kings in a palace needing guards at the door!

But no matter what they thought internally, having taken the money, they had to do the job, and outwardly, no one showed much complaint. After all, they usually had to guard merchandise 24/7 when protecting caravans, so this was no different, just a bit boring.

Dwight didn’t care what his employees thought.

After dispatching the Knight Commander, he continued to keep a low profile, so much so that even the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a bit fed up.

“Even the shyest girls are willing to go out for picnics with friends. There’s really no need for you to be so modest,” Charlie said. “Is it because Shivers isn’t here that you feel insecure?”

The young Duke glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the newspaper.

This habit had continued, only now the duo buying his newspapers had changed from Columbus and Eugene to Shiloh and Eugene.

Shivers was his personal bodyguard, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do without Shivers. Besides, the Knight Commander had already made proper arrangements for a few Brandenburg knights, ensuring that the Duke was never left unprotected.

Like the young man now standing three steps behind the Duke on his left, saying nothing.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper found this quite interesting.

He had once thought that the Brandenburg Knights were selected for their looks, but after getting to know a few of them, he realized that although these young men indeed had handsome features, their distinct personalities were far more interesting than their appearances.

“Firstly, my sense of security doesn’t come from anyone but myself, and secondly, Hasting is as excellent as any other Brandenburg Knight, including Shivers.” Dwight slowly turned a page of the newspaper. “I don’t go out because there’s no need to burrow everywhere like a rabbit preparing escape routes.”

Having failed in his attempt to sow discord, Charlie simply sat down in front of the Duke, naturally pulling a newspaper from his hands. This action caused Hasting’s brow to twitch, but seeing that the Duke was indifferent, he remained silent.

Completely unaware that his single gesture had offended a Brandenburg Knight, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper continued to chatter as he read. “Come on, even vampires venture out at night. Since you entered this house, you haven’t stepped outside once. Don’t you feel suffocated? It’s lively near the capital here, going out for half a day won’t delay any news from Miss Priscilla… Hmm?”

He straightened up, quickly scanning a small section of the newspaper. “‘This year’s March Rabbit Market will commence on the third Friday. First market: Farm tools and seeds; Second market: Herbs and groceries; Third market: Grains and spices; Fourth market: Antiques and jewelry. Each market will have an inquiry and notary station… The third Friday—that’s tomorrow!'”

Dwight noticed his ears had comically perked up—clearly, this guy was genuinely interested in that rambunctious trade market.

Strictly speaking, he was interested in the herbs and groceries section, perhaps reluctantly including the antiques and jewelry.

He had long noticed that Rabbit Head had an unusual fervor and collecting hobby for all sorts of obscure items, not just for the rare magical items like the “Book of Seasons” he typically used, but for all sorts of oddities that seemed peculiar and useless to ordinary people.

Since leaving Pennigra, he had been compulsively buying things in every town they settled, even purchasing a hat in Hilly City that could temporarily change hair color (which the Duke thought was just a hat with an ugly wig attached)—then turned around and cried poor to him, adamantly refusing to spend on food, lodging, or anything else.

However, this proved that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper did indeed possess some good stuff, as evidenced by his many purchases without his luggage visibly increasing. Space magic for storage was extremely expensive, and ordinary nobility could rarely afford it.

“I’m not going,” Dwight said heartlessly. “If you want to go, go by yourself.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked. “But I wanted to invite you to go together.”

He glanced sideways behind the Duke, and sure enough, the always expressionless young man’s brow twitched again.

Too funny.

“Have Eugene go.” The Duke was unimpressed. He turned another page of the newspaper, then irritably discovered he had finished reading everything. The only unread page being in Rabbit Head’s hands.

“Eugene took Shiloh shopping,” Charlie said. “Apparently, it’s a reward for learning swordsmanship… Shiloh dares not go out alone. Erica threatened to shave his head if he gets lost by himself again.”

“Then take two mercenaries.”

“Don’t you know what a free market means? Free—dom—. Those terrifying guys showing up would ruin a whole day’s business!”

“I’m not going anyway.” Dwight abruptly dropped the newspaper. “Hasting, have the kitchen prepare tea. I want to write another letter before my nap.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 67

The young Duke still sat upright, strictly adhering to the current time by wearing a morning robe, even though he had stayed inside the carriage with no intention of going out.

This was one of the garments temporarily purchased in Ropappas—a bright silver satin coat over a matching shirt-style pajama. It was the most exquisite fabric Shivers and his team could find locally, hastily tailored by an old seamstress for a fee, but the rabbit-head shopkeeper thought the color didn’t suit the Duke, who was pale from long periods without sunlight.

Dwight was still in his growth phase. His bones were growing rapidly recently, but his fat storage couldn’t keep up, so he kept getting taller but looked even thinner than when they first met in Maplewood. His long, untrimmed, light golden hair fell to his shoulders, making his face appear even more pallid against the morning robe.

If his father were still alive, he would certainly have someone give him a mirror and sternly remind him that a Dwight shouldn’t show such a bewildered expression in front of others, as it made him seem vulnerable.

But the former Duke Dwight was long gone.

The only one who might have taught him this, Priscilla, was in a critical condition.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t speak immediately but looked around instead. Although this carriage was hastily prepared, like the magic book, the necessary preparations weren’t lacking.

Just from a brief glance, he could confirm that at least two magical items in the carriage had the ability to shield sounds.

After the Duke spoke, he fell silent, appearing a bit like he was daydreaming—something the rabbit-headed shopkeeper understood.

The premature death of the former Duke forced him to take up the family reins at a time when his foundations weren’t stable, followed by Priscilla bravely accepting a proposal from a nobleman on another continent to prevent her marriage from being used as a tool to manipulate her brother, thus clearing the last obstacle for him to wield power over Brandenburg.

Having grown up with a scepter, the word “helpless” should be extremely foreign to him.

He instinctively knew he wasn’t allowed to show his vulnerability, so even the most trusted confidants weren’t permitted inside this carriage.

But perhaps it was his confusion that made him call Charlie over. Maybe the ballad about 22 Paulownia Street ultimately left an impression on the Duke.

Human behavioral patterns had never changed.

Once they realized they might truly be out of options, they turned to seeking another form of psychological comfort—even things they would scoff at when in full possession of their faculties.

This kind of Dwight felt somewhat unfamiliar and uncomfortable to Charlie, who, despite the oddity, seemed more accustomed to seeing him assertive and determined.

In fact, the Duke didn’t ask him anything more after saying, “I don’t know,” and then fell into silence.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sat expressionlessly across from the Duke, searching for the right words in his mind while inexplicably recalling the dream he just had.

That disturbing, heart-racing nightmare.

You’re a rabbit, Charlie.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper told himself this. With lions everywhere outside, how capable are you really? It’s extremely irrational and risky to stick your head out of the hole—

He thought this as he reached out his hand.

Dwight lowered his head to see him take his hand.

“It’s not as bad as all that.”

He heard the rabbit-headed shopkeeper say.

“Turn back the clock, to the Mokwen royal family—the King knew of the ‘Holy Grail’ at least before Tifa ascended the throne, when the former King Frederick was still alive. The old King was brave and good at warfare, not the type to seek illusory powers, but some people in their twilight years might crazily crave a return to their peak, though this remains unverified. With Frederick alive, that mage wouldn’t likely have bypassed the King to deal directly with Tifa, who was still one of the seven princes at that time. Therefore, it’s very likely that the secret of the Holy Grail was inherited by the surviving princes as part of the King’s legacy,” Charlie said, dipping his finger in some hot tea from a silver cup and drawing a decision tree on the wooden table.

“According to the Fox, Duke Baylor has an unusual obsession with art and isn’t keen on power struggles. Perhaps for this reason, Tifa excluded him early from the competitors and ‘generously’ granted him a title higher than that of Lestrop.”

“The room where the flying box is located, including the decorations and secret passages, couldn’t have been done in a day or two. Tifa must have been trying this for some time. But Queen Christine has never been pregnant, which might explain why, although they are both his children, the ‘Holy Grail’ and a royal heir mean different things to him. He’s the King, and his ideas to some extent also represent the Mokwen royal family’s views—his and Lestrop’s thoughts.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper drew an equal sign between the circles representing Tifa and Lestrop.

Dwight immediately understood his meaning.

Regardless of whether the entire Mokwen royal family was involved or prepared to join this mad plan, in their eyes, the instrumental value of the ‘Holy Grail’ outweighed its personal significance, and they likely didn’t acknowledge the child that might exist, born of their scheme, as their own progeny.

This was why Tifa used the flying box to deceive the girls of the flower garden.

Queen Christine was of noble birth, backed by another kingdom. If she were pregnant, the child would be a prince.

Not some key to wielding power.

If Lestrop’s thoughts were similar to Tifa’s, then even if he wanted to involve himself in this experiment, the subject wouldn’t be his own sister-in-law, the Duchess of Brandenburg.

The Duke pursed his lips.

He was beginning to regret—this emotion was equally foreign to him.

He regretted that his decision to come to the Doran continent was made too late.

Christine and Priscilla were different. Her motherland was right to the east of Mokwen, and the two countries were closely connected due to this marriage alliance, making it impossible for Tifa to easily harm her.

Wasting time on regret wasn’t the style of the Dwight family. Dwight stared at the half-dried water stain on the table for a while, then suddenly said, “The Thorn Estate.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “?”

“No matter whether what that doctor said is true, we have indeed seen the Lamp Bearers with our own eyes.” The Duke lifted his gaze. “‘They are ageless and immortal spirits, not to be commanded by outsiders.’ Such beings, even if it’s his own capital of Syriacochi, Tifa couldn’t hide them in the flying box to deceive the public. If the Lamp Bearers had appeared in the capital, even if the King ordered every citizen’s mouth sealed, it couldn’t be hidden from the Black Gold Families, which aren’t governed by any kingdom. But we haven’t heard any news of this sort, which means—”

Charlie’s brows twitched.

“This means that the progress at Thorn Manor is even more advanced than in the capital!”

Though distant, the Thorn Estate was located in the outskirts of Ropappas, far from the capital—but closer to the experimental origin, Mistress Daisy’s castle.

The power of an ordinary estate should never surpass the King’s. If Tifa was behind in progress compared to the Thorn Estate, it was very likely that another major noble stood behind this estate.

Dwight’s thoughts raced.

It didn’t take him long to determine that he needed a pair of eyes to scout the Thorn Estate, someone who could avoid direct conflict, sneak in quietly, and leave no trace behind—a top-class spy.

But his available resources were thin.

The Duke couldn’t help but think of Rabbit Head and Erica’s description of ‘Doctor Salman’. Regardless of whether he carried a curse or a blessing, that ability to transform into a bird was indeed very practical.

If there hadn’t been a direct confrontation, he would have done everything possible to recruit such a person to his side…

But that opportunity had now passed.

Erica was a trump card he didn’t want to expose too soon. The castle incident was an exception; he had already ordered that, aside from himself, Erica need not respond to anyone else’s call, to stay low and accumulate power.

Although several Brandenburg Knights were now in place, not all were suitable for such tasks.

For instance, Shiloh, too young and known for his strength, wasn’t skilled in stealth or ambush.

Eugene had good stealth capabilities, but his combat skills and experience were insufficient. There was no guarantee he could return unscathed if sent out alone. The other knights were strong in battle but lacking in other areas—the Duke counted his available men again, and only two were suitable for this mission.

Shivers and Rabbit Head.

Charlie’s slippery skills were unquestionable, and the Knight Commander was sharp enough, seeming upright most of the time, but if needed, he could perform as well as Eugene.

Shivers had been with him longer and was more obedient. His loyalty was beyond doubt. Keeping him close was the wisest choice.

But Dwight inexplicably remembered something—that night when the rabbit-headed shopkeeper handed him a bottle of invisibility potion, his fingertips were colder than the glass bottle.

“You don’t understand. They must not find me,” the other had said.

The Duke didn’t know why he recalled such an insignificant detail at this time.

It was gradually getting lighter outside, and both men in the carriage could feel the increased speed of travel.

Charlie inexplicably looked at Dwight, who had been staring unblinkingly at him since earlier in silence.

“Please call Shivers over,” the young Duke said tiredly. “This discussion ends here. I want to sleep.”

Just like that? Was this a roundabout way of telling him to leave? What about the Thorn Estate?

Halfway through the conversation, he wanted to sleep—what kind of spoiled behavior was this… Oh, he is the Duke, with a realm of subjects to indulge him.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper clicked his tongue inwardly, scrutinizing the other’s complexion. He did indeed look sleep-deprived now, but that initial rare vulnerability had vanished—the Duke of Brandenburg had miraculously reverted to that unapproachable, rigidly disagreeable person.

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