Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 89

“Who is the owner of the manor?” This was the most crucial point for Shivers—Thorn Manor wasn’t registered at the town hall, indicating that it was a private property of a noble at least of viscount rank, yet there were no family crests of any Mokwen nobles around the manor’s perimeter. Few who had entered or left the manor had any clues or were tight-lipped about it. In this situation, Yitzfa claimed that the manor’s owner was coming back.

Shivers had already learned from the Duke that Thorn Manor belonged to the southern lord Lestrop and knew that he had left his wife to return to his homeland alone, but Yitzfa seemed to know more details.

Yitzfa was reclining on a low couch with a fleece blanket over his knees, leisurely blowing the steam off the cup of tea in his hand.

This wasn’t pretending. He genuinely felt cold.

Although it was already spring, the persistent drizzle still made one feel bone-chillingly cold, especially as most buildings in the mountain town were made of stone, with the cold clinging tightly to walls, floors, and roofs, making one shiver at a glance.

The Peters’ house had a lady of the house and plenty of maids, with fireplaces burning from winter into spring, not only keeping the interior dry and warm but also covered with carpets everywhere. Even the tabletops adorned with lace tablecloths were meticulously embroidered by the maids.

Not so here.

But considering it was only Shivers staying here, it was normal for a single man to overlook these details.

After taking a sip of tea, Yitzfa said, “It’s on record that Earl Lestrop secretly visits the manor twice every year, and this year is the fifth year. However, one time he was followed, and the follower left spies in town… From last winter to now, the capital of Syriacochi has received at least two reports, more frequent than before.”

He wasn’t playing coy but freely shared information that was nearly the same as what the Duke’s party had gathered. The spies lingering in town because of the manor were far more than just Shivers and Yitzfa. Yitzfa’s hints were clear.

Shivers quietly calculated in his mind. Including the suspicious Priscilla and the father of the child she met because of her suspicions, there were at least five groups focusing their attention on this small town—it was truly chaotic.

This was probably why Yitzfa had so quickly abandoned local forces to seek cooperation with Shivers. If multiple powers were to intervene directly, then not only the likes of the Peters couple but even the town officials probably wouldn’t have much right or say in the matter, making it pointless to waste effort there.

It was hard to say whether the Fox family was aware that the Countess was also shadowing her husband. If they only caught the king’s movements, the Black Gold Families would definitely not cooperate directly with the reigning monarchy… Yitzfa’s proposal, besides seeking assistance, was also a means to probe Shivers’s position.

As the Knight Commander watched Yitzfa start to sip his tea again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

The way he drank tea looked a bit awkward. It lacked the Duke’s elegance and the knights’ utilitarian guzzling. Instead, he sipped continuously, small sip after small sip, neither graceful nor efficient.

It seemed to be purely for warmth.

But it wasn’t Shivers’s place to manage him since he wasn’t a knight of Brandenburg.

Shivers looked away.

“So, you mean Lestrop will head straight for the manor after returning to the country?” he asked. “Then, the ‘opportunity’ you mentioned, is it before or after his arrival?”

Yitzfa thought for a moment. “I think we should try to enter the manor with the Earl.”

Shivers waited for him to explain.

“The King hasn’t put forth a full effort to rescue him in Lababata, and the conflict between the royal brothers has been brought to the public, leading to possible armed conflicts. I believe the Earl rushed back, not to his own domain but directly to the manor, because he thinks it’s more crucial than his territory.”

In reality, the reason why the southern lord’s title was more prominent than that of an Earl was that his lands weren’t only rich in resources but also because the sugar production developed from beet farming monopolized the national market, affecting neighboring countries. This was probably a concession made during his ennoblement to slightly balance the lowly title.

But all of this seemed less important to Lestrop than this secluded manor, which was intriguing.

“So if a dispute is indeed going to break out, it’s likely to happen here?” Shivers immediately understood. “In front of armed forces, closed doors and silent farmers holding pitchforks are negligible. The mansion is likely to be chaotic and out of control before a victor emerges.”

However, that didn’t mean those who watched the fight could rest easy. How to navigate through sword flashes and avoid horse hooves without being seen as an enemy by those blinded by conflict also required skill.

Yitzfa felt he couldn’t do it alone and needed someone to lead.

But the Knight Commander thought he was joking.

If a localized war really broke out, being in the center of the conflict meant even those clad in full armor could hardly guarantee safe exit, let alone Yitzfa, who wouldn’t be able to move under the weight of regular chainmail.

Not to mention, aside from agility, a certain level of combat skills was necessary for self-defense. Did this person, who could spend half an hour on a cup of tea, even know the correct way to hold a sword?

Listening to Yitzfa’s so-called plan of “they fight, we slip in through the cracks unnoticed and pick up the leftovers”, Shivers felt suffocated.

Indeed, different professions had different expertise. If it were someone from the Lion family, they would never say such a thing so brazenly.

Up to this point, Yitzfa had given him the impression of being too shrewd, willful, cunning, manipulative, and hard to coax… Only at this moment did this beautifully furred fox show the recklessness and naivety characteristic of his simple brother, Cici.

Seeing that silly, unaware look, there was no doubt they were biological brothers.

He then had to explain in detail how indiscriminate a battlefield is and that current local wars are primarily offensive and defensive. Not even one Shivers, let alone two, could intervene in the melee of two forces while also pulling Yitzfa in.

Yitzfa acknowledged this but didn’t accept his evasion.

“So tell me, what’s a better way?” Yitzfa pulled the blanket up. “As long as it’s feasible, I will pay a suitable reward—at that time, even Tifa might be jealous of you.”

Shivers was slightly moved.

The dispute between Tifa and Lestrop over the throne undoubtedly involved the “Holy Grail”. By mentioning this, was Yitzfa implying that the Foxes had more information on this than even the Mokwen king?

“If a conflict truly erupts, appearing rashly would be like entering a herd of out-of-control buffalo unarmed. The consequences are unpredictable,” Shivers said rationally. “Either we enter the manor before Lestrop to await the outbreak, or we look for breaches among the ruins after the battle—both options carry risks.”

Pre-battle defenses were usually the most stringent, and the movements of outsiders could likely be exposed during checks and scheduling unless a relatively safe blind spot for hiding was found; post-battle, fatigue and reduced vigilance may decrease, but inventorying spoils was always a priority. If they wait until the main forces withdraw, there might be very little value left.

Yitzfa listened quietly, then thought for a while. “Then we’ll get ahead of Lestrop.”

This aligned exactly with Shivers’s analysis. Risk always coexisted with opportunity. Being overly cautious might lead to missing out entirely.

Yitzfa’s quick acceptance of his suggestion was somewhat surprising. Shivers had thought he would be more willful, as many accustomed to high positions were stubborn.

But Shivers wasn’t swayed by the congenial atmosphere of the discussion.

He leaned back comfortably in his chair, hands crossed, his tone even. “Assuming I agree to cooperate, for safety’s sake, it’s best we are both open and honest.”

Yitzfa looked at him innocently. “What do you mean?”

“I need the secrets and evidence concerning Thorn Manor,” Shivers said first. “What about you?”

Testing each other might be an amusing emotional game at other times, but it was inappropriate in serious work. No matter how brief, Shivers wouldn’t expose his back to someone untrustworthy, no matter how handsome.

Yitzfa lowered his eyes. He wanted to drink more tea but found his cup empty, so he poured himself some, quickly calculating during the brief interval.

Just like his first impression, this man was far more troublesome than his appearance suggested.

Polite, considerate, skilled, and quick to react.

Although he had never directly seduced the other party, the various charms that had previously been irresistible in front of Yitzfa were like stones dropped into a deep pond, eliciting no response at all, leaving him unsure of how best to interact with him for his own advantage.

He likely came from a good background, with negotiation tactics that revealed no flaws, a resolute character, never led astray, but also never harshly rejected, always keeping his options open.

His way of interacting with others depended on who stood before him, reflecting a mirror-like personality.

Yitzfa held the cup in his hand, staring directly at him. “My goal is the same as yours, but I aim to go further.”

“If the dispute between Tifa and Lestrop ends in victory for one side, I want to seize or destroy what they fought over before the victor regains their senses.”

At that moment, Yitzfa’s expression and tone were colder than any Shivers had ever seen before.

Shivers lightly pressed his own palm, reminding himself to control his expression.

“What is that?” he asked quietly.

Yitzfa looked at him with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. After the matter of Tifa, the fact that Shivers could find this place meant he wasn’t completely ignorant of the source—although it was hardly a secret at some level.

“Have you heard of the ‘Holy Grail’?” Yitzfa asked.

As he expected, Shivers nodded.

“The legend of the Holy Grail has always existed, but most who pursue it don’t know its true origins.” Yitzfa’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Some speculate that the Grail itself possesses divine power, capable of changing the heavens and the earth. Others believe the Grail isn’t human, but a great demon sealed for centuries, using human lineage to return to the world, but neither is true.”

“The Grail is a person. Just like you and me, possessing no supernatural powers, needing meals daily, and careful nurturing to grow.”

Shivers frowned but didn’t interrupt.

If it held no supernatural powers, why then would Tifa and several powerful families be in such endless dispute over it?

Yitzfa didn’t need to see to know what Shivers was thinking.

“The Grail itself has no power, but it can indeed awaken certain forces. This concept comes from an old legend where someone made a deal with a demon, tricked it into consuming its flesh and blood, causing it to weaken and fall into slumber, while that person’s blood gained incredible power: such blood could not only awaken the demon from the abyss but also exorcize it in exchange for blood.”

“At the cost of blood?” Shivers couldn’t help but ask. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the blood of the Holy Grail isn’t only the key to unlocking forbidden powers but also the nourishment. Every fifteen days, a cup of fresh blood can ‘nurture’ a demon through the Grail,” Yitzfa explained. “That is the true meaning of the Holy Grail—not power itself, but a sacrifice.”

There was silence for a while.

After a long moment, Shivers found his voice again. “How can you be so certain?”

If royal families like Mokwen had to rely on vague legends to grope their way, how did Yitzfa come to know such secrets? Was it due to the powerful intelligence network of the Fox family?

The temperature of the cup in Yitzfa’s hand had gradually diminished, becoming somewhat cold, but he didn’t let go.

“I told you. If Tifa knew what I’ve told you, he would be jealous of you,” Yitzfa said with a mocking smile. “The earliest Holy Grail came from a certain Black Gold Family.”

The noble royal families, holding the scepters of light, crazed for imagined mighty powers, were unaware that the bloodline passed down through generations meant that if the Holy Grail were to be reborn, it would inevitably come from a Black Gold Family.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 88

The handsome blond youth sat by the window with a worried expression, half his body framed by the large glass window like a pleasing oil painting.

Less than an hour after sitting down, he received several handkerchiefs through the hands of waiters, each one without exception carrying a rich fragrance, highly tantalizing.

Even the middle-aged male waiter wiping glasses behind the counter felt that such melancholy in the gentleman could only be due to love troubles.

And as it is well known, the quickest way to forget an unsuccessful romance is to dive into another passion. Thus, he was more than happy to help those sufficiently bold young ladies by acting as Cupid delivering their messages.

On one hand, he lamented that a man as handsome as him wouldn’t be heartbroken for long. On the other hand, the generous tips made him hope that the gentleman would sit for a while longer, sigh for another hour, and he could buy that new bow tie he had been eyeing for a long time.

Though the cause of his worry had nothing to do with romance.

The reason for his anxiety was that the Duke and his party were heading to White Bridge.

As the Knight Commander, he absolutely trusted that each of his knights was excellent enough and loyal enough to offer everything for the Duke, but this trust hardly eased his anxiety about not being able to guard the Duke personally.

After all, it was White Bridge, a notorious lawless zone, a place where even if he was right beside the Duke, he would have to be on guard with twelve times the usual vigilance.

Moreover, Miss Priscilla was also joining this time.

Shivers just wanted to sigh deeply without regard for appearances.

Although the Dwight family was powerful, it was relatively sparse in terms of kin; the Duke and Miss Priscilla were the last of their lineage. If anything happened to these two on the continent of Doran, there would be no need for him to return to Lemena—his family had served the Duke generation after generation, all their glory and responsibilities tied to Brandenburg. If anything went wrong on his watch, he wouldn’t need his family to blame him. He could bury himself in a hole.

Shivers drank the last of his chili tea, the aggressive flavor giving a jolt that significantly reduced the dizziness he had been suffering from due to recent sleepless nights. It was no wonder that many people used it as a medicinal tea. He raised his hand to signal the waiter for a tea change, just as a somewhat frail figure appeared in the large glass window by the door and pushed it open, the bell above tinkling gently.

The tea house wasn’t very crowded at the moment, mostly occupied by young women in lively chat, which was consistent with its more femininely oriented menu and décor. However, it was rare that Shivers, a man, didn’t feel out of place in such an environment.

The one who pushed the door, Yitzfa, was not in a good mood.

He rarely got up at this time, let alone went out, and the large glass window design of this shop allowed the sunlight to fill the space unabated, which he found irritating.

Shivers looked up and met his gaze, but Yitzfa didn’t move immediately. His beautiful cat-like eyes swept around, and he indeed noticed a chestnut-haired girl with a headband in the corner glancing towards Shivers—and the stack of lacy handkerchiefs beside him.

Ha—

Yitzfa took off the scarf he used to block the sunlight and his bad mood and then made his way over, sitting down next to him without ceremony.

Shivers was somewhat perplexed but didn’t push him away. The waiter timely came to replace the tea and, thinking he was being discreet, glanced at Yitzfa, then couldn’t help but take a couple more looks.

Yitzfa looked up at him, his cold gaze making the waiter beat a hasty retreat.

Shivers: “Why did you have to scare him?”

Yitzfa turned his face, returning to an innocent expression. “I didn’t.”

Shivers: “……”

There was really no need for such blatant lies.

This was why he was rather reluctant to deal with Yitzfa—this guy was definitely the most unpredictable, most changeable person he had ever met and hard to rationalize with ordinary logic. Shivers liked to operate according to plans. Anything that broke the rules was a headache for him.

But he didn’t show his troubles and instead took the initiative to pour Yitzfa a cup of tea.

As Shivers had expected, the local gentry’s probing of Thorn Manor wasn’t going smoothly.

The manor’s staff rejected the so-called “sister working in the manor” claim made by Yitzfa, with the steward dismissing all visitors with an almost rude demeanor, causing Mr. and Mrs. Peters significant embarrassment and exhausting Yitzfa’s patience.

The Fox family always had a backup plan, and when Yitzfa realized conventional methods were ineffective, he quickly turned his attention to Shivers, who had unexpectedly appeared here.

After their brief transaction last time, he had tried to probe the identity of this generous, mysterious client.

But no official records of their passage through Doran could be found, which meant if they weren’t smugglers from another continent, then some kingdom in Doran was likely keeping their identities hidden for undercover activities.

It was possible to trace, but that would require certain permissions and manpower, and would need to be included in the annual report. Yitzfa, who loved gossip but hated hassle, didn’t think much of it at the time and decided to treat the transaction as an insignificant episode, quickly forgetting about it.

Unexpectedly, they met again soon after in this border city.

Yitzfa had reassessed Shivers and his backing, judging that whoever they were, they were much more reliable than the local gentry represented by the Peters—he knew those who thought themselves high society but only indulged in pleasures were useless, but he didn’t expect them to be so incompetent, completely uncharismatic, not even worth passing time with.

“Cooperation?” Shivers slightly furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Take me into the manor in exchange for sharing information,” Yitzfa said bluntly. “If we can’t go through the front door, we use unconventional means.”

His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. Shivers had to lean in close to make out his words, which brought their faces uncomfortably close.

Shivers looked at him somewhat amusedly. “Why do you think I can get in?”

The manor’s defensive posture had intensified daily, and although he didn’t know what pressure Yitzfa had applied to the Peters, all viable strategies had likely been exhausted recently, which was why Yitzfa was seeking a more powerful partner.

But the Knight Commander saw no need for a partnership.

Honestly, if Shivers were to infiltrate the manor alone, he could flexibly handle any potential emergencies, but bringing along an unknown variable would be nothing but a hindrance.

“Because you’ve been inside before.” Yitzfa also smiled, the corners of his eyes curling up slightly.

This statement made Shivers’s heart skip a beat, but his face remained unchanged, feigning a timely, confused expression.

Yitzfa, nearly half-leaning on Shivers, spoke in a tone that was ambiguously flirtatious yet chillingly calm. “I know you’re waiting for the right moment. The reward for cooperation is sharing information. I might have something you’re interested in.”

Shivers’s expression remained neutral.

“The manor’s owner is coming back.” Yitzfa’s hand rested on his shoulder, his chin nearly touching him, as if certain that even in such a lazy posture, the prey would definitely take the bait. “The balance will soon be disrupted.”

“Our interests don’t conflict. Forming an alliance temporarily won’t do any harm,” he continued to entice.

“Oh, what are your interests?” Yitzfa’s recently thrown-out piece of information had momentarily distracted him, but Shivers wasn’t easily swayed, instead focusing on the core issue.

Yitzfa tilted his head to look outside the window. “That question is rather unfair. I’m not that kind of casual person.”

The implication was clear: no cooperation, no answers.

Shivers followed his gaze outside, where a sophisticated two-seater carriage was arriving across the street, slowly pulling up to the curb.

“How about it?” Yitzfa blinked.

Shivers didn’t answer right away but watched as Mr. Peters got out of the carriage and pushed open the door of the teahouse. The crisp bell rang again, and a waiter immediately stepped forward to attend to the small-mustached gentleman dressed in an elegant navy blue suit but was interrupted by a gesture from the man.

“Yitzfa, ah, good you haven’t gone far…” Mr. Peters hurried over. “Dolly is upset. She wants to talk to you in person.”

Yitzfa stood up abruptly, his large movement drawing the attention of everyone in the shop, making Mr. Peters uncomfortably clear his throat.

“I do not intend to be a burden.” His voice was clear, making the choke in his tone quite evident. “I’m not shameless, clinging to the home of my lifesaver, unwilling to leave. Your wife is a kind-hearted woman, and if my presence causes discord between you two, such a sin would disturb me day and night.”

Mr. Peters quickly interrupted him, “No! You’ve misunderstood!”

Unfortunately, it was too late. Shivers saw the waiter not far away with an “oh” expression on his face and, without looking back, knew that most of the few customers in the teahouse probably felt the same.

After all, Yitzfa’s voice was indeed quite loud.

“Please go back!” Yitzfa said with moral righteousness. “I can fend for myself. Please don’t worry about me anymore. Mr. Green—”

He turned around and, with a force that belied his slender frame, yanked up the knight who he thought was enjoying the drama.

“Has generously offered me a job just now!”

Shivers: “???”

“If you really care about me, please let me go, to give me a chance to prove that I am not a parasite to the Peters family.” His eyes, somehow filled with tears, miraculously spun in their sockets but never fell.

Mr. Peters looked both puzzled and shocked and somewhat disconcerted by the onlookers.

“No, you’ve misunderstood,” he repeated weakly. “We should talk this over…”

“I’ve already spoken with Mr. Green, who has been borrowing the landlord’s maid and needs help.” Yitzfa’s cheeks and nose were red, making his skin appear as white as snow, compelling one unconsciously to hold their breath to avoid hurting him.

Perhaps stung by the onlookers’ condemnation, Mr. Peters could only leave hurriedly after dropping a “this is a misunderstanding”.

Shivers stood there, looking down at Yitzfa, who clung to his arm, nearly hanging off him, feeling speechless.

“I ‘offered you a job’,” Shivers said. “When did we discuss this?”

Not just Mr. Peters, but Shivers, who had become the center of attention by accident, also felt uncomfortable and left two silver coins before attempting to leave.

Yitzfa stubbornly clung to him, letting Shivers drag him along. “I will work hard!”

Everyone watched as they left the shop in a strange pose. Shivers had no choice but to forcibly stand Yitzfa up. “What exactly did you do to the Peters?”

Yitzfa kept pace behind him. “It’s not what I did to him. It’s what he wanted to do to me. Unfortunately, the madame walked in on it, and it led to a big fight.”

Shivers stopped abruptly, causing Yitzfa to run into his back, truly reddening his nose this time.

“Mr. Peters forced you?” Shivers turned around, frowning at him.

Yitzfa blinked, but before he could speak, Shivers lightly pinched his cheek, examining it up and down, left and right, checking his exposed neck and hands as well. Though gentle, the motions were devoid of any flirtation, more like a doctor examining a small animal—only relaxing after confirming there were no suspicious marks.

“If I said yes, would you take me in?” Yitzfa asked.

Shivers stared at him intently, almost making Yitzfa think he was imagining a scene of himself being mistreated, when suddenly Shivers flicked his forehead. “Don’t lie indiscriminately.”

The sound was so loud that both of them were stunned.

Shivers: “…Sorry.”

He momentarily forgot Yitzfa wasn’t Shiloh, who could have taken a stronger hit.

“It’s okay. You’re the employer. I’m just a poor manservant with nowhere to go that you took in. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Stop talking about that—we’ll talk about cooperation next time.”

Yitzfa weakly covered his forehead. “Ah, my head is spinning. Maybe I was hurt by the hit just now. I need to lie down at your place to recover.”

Shivers: “……”

“Just now it was so loud. Maybe my brain was shattered? My vision seems a bit blurry.”

Shivers: “……”

He was utterly at a loss.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 87

“Beastman… No, cursed?” Sasha said, “You might be a handsome man. What a pity.”

She didn’t attempt to bypass Charlie to confront Amber directly but instead stared into Charlie’s eyes and asked, “What’s your relationship with Erica? Why is this child with you?”

“I’m a cloth merchant, occasionally collaborating with Erica’s caravan,” Charlie answered calmly, not annoyed by her aggressive demeanor and probing. “This child has been entrusted to me. You know, the nomadic life of a caravan isn’t conducive to a child’s healthy upbringing.”

“Are you close?”

“We’ve had a few dealings over the years.”

“And he entrusted the child to you?”

“Until he comes of age.”

Amber, holding several not-too-heavy boxes, looked up at Mr. Rabbit Head’s silhouette.

He wasn’t really scared, even though he knew Sasha was strong.

Because yielding to fear wasn’t an option if one wanted to survive in an underground fighting ring. From his earliest memories, everything he had learned taught him not to fear, not to retreat, not to dodge—only by facing challenges head-on with relentless courage could one find a chance to live!

But why did this man stand in front of him?

Was he strong? No, the redhead and that stern-faced man were probably stronger.

Amber was momentarily puzzled and was almost bumped into by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s retreating figure, before he snapped back to reality.

“I have no need to lie to you.” Charlie’s voice remained even. “I wouldn’t presumptuously invite a lady to my home, but if only seeing for yourself will put you at ease…”

He stepped back a few paces and turned the corner of the street, just in time to see the house they were renting.

The mercenaries at the door immediately noticed them. The two, who had been leaning casually, straightened up.

Probably because she didn’t want to cause a conflict with the mercenaries, Sasha’s gaze lingered between them for a while before she finally walked away without further fuss.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and led Amber back.

The two mercenaries had come out onto the street ready to intercept, but seeing them return, they didn’t ask questions and resumed their positions.

Most of the mercenaries were ready to depart, and Hasting was still busy handing over responsibilities to the kitchen and the steward, missing the gift-giving session.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper kept his promise, purchasing what he thought was the most suitable item for everyone: a roll of soft leather for Hasting; a large bag of hot, local caramel cream rolls topped with baked apple crisps for Shiloh; a small brass telescope for Hall; and for Amber, a fitted hunting outfit imported from abroad, unlike the traditional robes of Lababata with tightly tailored cuffs and waist, convenient for movement, complete with a wind hat and a pair of hard-soled short boots.

Amber, seeing such sophisticated clothing for the first time, clumsily fumbled with the belt until Shiloh, munching on a roll, pulled him aside to help him, accidentally tightening it too much and nearly suffocating him.

But besides these, what really made him popular were several large bags filled with handmade fireworks—in many countries, fireworks technicians were directly employed by the royal families, used only during major festivals or celebrations, with private workshops not allowed, and the splendid nature of fireworks also made them difficult to develop and circulate privately.

Lababata was one of the few countries that allowed the private development and sale of fireworks. Charlie only learned this after seeing a few fireworks stores, so he bought every type he found interesting, carrying a full armload back, nearly unable to walk.

Shiloh, delighted like a savage, whooped and pulled Amber to find Hasting and Hall to set off fireworks in the yard.

Dwight didn’t touch the pile of gifts but sat watching as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper pushed a slender box in front of him.

The exquisite leather box alone was quite valuable. The Duke watched him open the gold and green ribbon like he was presenting a treasure. “Look! An antique quill that doesn’t need dipping in ink. It can also be automatically heated in the winter and never clogs. I found it in an herb shop. Haggling took quite an effort.”

Putting aside the oddity of an herb shop selling stationery, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper indeed knew his stuff.

Although magical items were convenient, not many mages took the trouble to work on such mundane tasks, so even the Duke of Brandenburg had never seen a quill that didn’t need an ink bottle before.

Even by his critical standards, it couldn’t be said to be a bad gift.

However, Dwight neither expressed like nor dislike; instead, he just slightly turned his head to look at him.

“What happened?” he asked.

By this time, the sun had set. The light outside the windows had dimmed, and the lamps in the living room had been lit.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper leaned back in his chair, pondered for a while, and didn’t immediately answer.

He was wondering if there was something subtly different about his behavior that prompted Dwight to suddenly ask. Although he was somewhat accustomed to the other’s abruptly keen perceptiveness, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper couldn’t help but reflect on whether he was still not calm enough—the conclusion was no, he hadn’t shown any flaws, as evidenced by Amber’s still normal reaction.

It was probably due to Amber’s innate talent + extensive combat experience that made him, like a young wild animal, full of wild instincts. In many cases, they could feel that although Amber was sparing with words and expressions, he could precisely discern the subtle attitudes of adults toward him, and if it weren’t for this sense that the people in this house genuinely accepted him, the child wouldn’t have been as docile and harmless as he was now.

It was probably the same with Erica in front of him.

But today Amber hadn’t noticed anything, the only explanation being that the Duke’s ability to read the atmosphere and people’s hearts was becoming excessively sharp.

“We encountered a Lion, not yet mature, but its claws were already sharp.” Charlie decided to be frank. “I—don’t really like that family.”

This was a euphemism. Actually, after encountering Sasha, every pore in his body screamed in rejection, and Sasha and Amber wouldn’t know how much effort he had spent to control himself from turning and fleeing immediately.

This had probably become his instinct.

The Duke observed his face closely, focused like a surgeon—so long that Charlie felt slightly uncomfortable and twitched his ears.

“Are you afraid of her?” The Duke precisely used the female pronoun. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had no doubt that he had deduced that the interlocutor was indeed the girl causing Erica some trouble.

“…Perhaps,” Charlie murmured.

If someone had been whispering in your ear since you were sensible that there was a group of assassins who could ruthlessly tear you to pieces given the chance, anyone would have a psychological shadow.

Dwight didn’t quite understand Charlie’s fear. In his view, although Rabbit Head lived a disorganized, messy life, he wasn’t a weak person—on the contrary, he had a breadth of vision and survival skills many couldn’t accumulate in a lifetime, which were not much less formidable than pure physical strength.

Yet it was precisely on this point that he was paradoxically both complacent and insecure.

“Compared to talking about the Lions, you mention Erica as if she’s just a neighbor.” The Duke finally withdrew his gaze. “Give me your hand.”

Rabbit-Headed Shopkeeper: “???”

What for?

Seeing him not move, Dwight repeated somewhat impatiently, “Give me your hand—what are you afraid of?”

Charlie wasn’t sure whether this was about his fear of the Lion family or something else, but he extended his right hand, palm up, nonetheless.

He instinctively thought the Duke wanted to give him something, perhaps aniseed or mint candy?

It surely wasn’t because he admitted his fear that he was about to be punished by a slap on the palm.

His fingers were long and smooth, with few lines on his palm, and because of the forward stretch, a section of his wrist exposed blue-green veins meandering like pine branches hidden under snow in winter.

The Duke paused slightly, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t thought about Rabbit Head’s original appearance for quite a while.

Back in Pennigra, he had also secretly speculated what this man might look like, whether handsome or ugly, and why he willingly lived with a rabbit’s head so different from ordinary people, with not a hint of rejection, but as time went by and he grew accustomed, he seldom thought about it anymore. Occasionally, a thought would flash in his mind without reason, like how would such quirks as twitching his ears or bristling his fur be reconciled if he changed back, or whether a naturally serious face could coexist with occasionally slightly frivolous expressions.

Just like now.

He looked down at the wrist in front of him, suddenly thinking that the parts of Rabbit Head below the neck were quite superior. The owner of such hands likely wouldn’t have an unattractive face.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched the Duke daydreaming inexplicably. This wasn’t his illusion—the Duke had recently been drifting off mid-conversation quite frequently.

He waited patiently for a while, and seeing that the other hadn’t snapped back, he couldn’t help but wiggle his fingers.

The Duke then reached out, taking the quill from the gift box.

Actually, the lower classes now rarely used quills that weren’t durable, as glass and metal nibs could withstand long-term friction better and could also be crafted into intricate designs like carved or hollowed patterns on the pen body. And the lower classes didn’t engage in luxurious activities like writing and reading, so most quills held more value as collectibles than for writing.

Dwight himself wasn’t accustomed to using quills either, as he disliked the overly ornate feathers, which reminded him of the powder-filled, giggling court dances.

The pen Rabbit Head bought didn’t have the usual large feather. The dark feather was trimmed into a sharp shape, resembling that of a hawk or falcon, and the nib was very sharp.

So, when he lifted the pen to write on Charlie’s palm, the latter instinctively pulled back slightly, only to be held down by his wrist.

Charlie watched as the Duke bent over to write the first letter ‘D’ on his palm. Their wrists overlapped due to the writing motion, and by slowing his breathing, one could feel the other’s pulse rate.

Dwight wrote his name letter by letter, the black ink forming a line on the palm, looking like an exaggerated and bizarre palm print.

“This is the payment for 22 Paulownia Street.” The Duke’s eyelashes cast a blurred shadow in the dim room light. “Lemena will protect you—I will protect you.”

He lifted his hand, put the quill away, and looked up at Charlie, calmly saying, “You need not worry about the Lion’s claws.”

“It’s completely dark now! My Lord…” Shiloh, like a headstrong boar, barged into the living room, and seeing the Duke and Charlie turn to look at him, he belatedly stopped in his tracks.

Although neither spoke, the peculiar atmosphere made an overly excited Shiloh cautiously look around.

Was the Duke deliberating? Had he interrupted something?

But apart from formal meetings, the Duke usually didn’t discuss important matters in places like the living room.

Logically, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but an inexplicable sense of awkwardness made his toes curl uncomfortably.

It was the rabbit-headed shopkeeper who eased his discomfort. “Are we setting off fireworks?”

Shiloh blinked. “Ah, yes! Even the mercenaries are downstairs watching. Hasting said he prepared chairs and drinks on the third-floor terrace, inviting Your Lordship to go up…”

“They’ve already started.” The Duke sat in a chair by the long table, propping his head to look outside—actually, the sky wasn’t fully dark yet, and as they spoke, a red firework shot across the window glass, followed by a loud pop, bursting like a brief rain of gold foil, illuminating the side faces of everyone in the room.

Dwight, watching the spectacular fireworks following the red ones burst one after another in the night sky, said, “I won’t go up. You go down and have fun.”

You?

Shiloh felt something subtle but couldn’t quite pinpoint it, turning to see the rabbit-headed shopkeeper taking a hat from the hat rack with his left hand and inexplicably asked, “Is Mr. Charlie also going downstairs?”

“Yes.” Charlie draped an arm over the redhead’s shoulders. “Let’s go. The last night must be celebrated properly—after all, as soon as it’s light tomorrow, we’re setting off again.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 86

Amber, who was inexplicably given a name to match a pet and dismissed from the room just as mysteriously, stepped out and saw Hasting waiting for him in the corridor.

The young knight, always serious, looked at him inquiringly. Amber hesitated for a moment before fully explaining what had happened in the room.

Hearing that the Duke had given him a name, Hasting showed a rare, subtle smile.

“Come with me,” Hasting said.

Their accommodation in Lababata wasn’t luxurious, but it was spacious and clean. Amber had thought Hasting might take him to a kitchen or a stable, but instead, he led him not downstairs but to a small room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

It was only when Hasting gently pushed him into the room that Amber snapped back to reality, stepping back uncertainly.

This was the first time he had looked so bewildered that evening.

The room was decorated in typical Lababata style, not overly furnished but with vibrant handmade carpets covering the floor, several small silk pillows and blankets, a wicker cabinet, and a low table with a decorative teapot set.

“We are just staying temporarily and didn’t bring much,” Hasting explained, seeing him unmoved. “Besides the Duke, everyone’s rooms are the same.”

Amber checked carefully. “I live here?”

“This is your room,” Hasting clarified. “You’ll stay here while we are in Lababata.”

“Alone?” Amber asked again.

Hasting looked at him strangely, thinking for a moment. “Are you afraid to sleep alone?”

It seemed true that children disliked spending the night alone, but Hasting needed to be available for the Duke at all times, and Hall was inconvenient. Only Shiloh had the extra capacity.

“No.” Amber pursed his lips.

He was just surprised that the ‘Duke’ would be so generous to provide him a room of his own—a luxury he had never even dreamt of.

“That’s good then.” Hasting, though not expressive, was willing to offer extra patience to the child. “If you need anything, ask Donna in the kitchen. She’ll take care of you. Oh, and…”

He paused. “You can make friends. That’s fine, but don’t discuss our affairs with anyone beyond those you’ve met tonight, and don’t refer to the Lord as ‘Duke’ in public.”

Amber nodded, though he still didn’t understand the exact rank of a ‘Duke’.

“So the Duke, the Lord,” seeing Hasting’s expression, Amber quickly changed his wording, “is my master now? And what about Erica?”

He vividly remembered that it was Erica who handed a bag full of gold coins to that cunning pig, leading him into the sunlight of Spice Street.

“He is also Erica’s master.” Hasting, understanding Amber’s concerns, spoke soothingly. “You don’t need to worry too much now. You’ll understand in time.”

“Is he everyone’s master, including that rabbit-headed gentleman?” Because he was wearing decent new clothes and standing in such a beautiful room, Amber tried to choose his words more elegantly.

Hasting paused. “He’s… Not exactly.”

Technically, Charlie was an employee of the Duke, but their employment relationship wasn’t as clearly defined as Hasting’s servitude, which still felt somewhat foreign to the strictly straightforward knight.

Amber muttered, “I thought not.”

The very impressive-looking Duke had dismissed him with a “just go away if there’s nothing” attitude, but Mr. Rabbit Head wasn’t so obedient, and in the end, only Amber had left obediently.

Was it because they still had matters to discuss?

Amber had many more curiosities—though he had only stayed for a short while, the Duke’s room was the most elaborate and luxurious he had ever seen, filled with many mysterious things he had never heard of.

Including “Emerald”.

Was that a dragon?

Amber hadn’t dared to look too closely at the glass jar, but he had remembered the Duke’s words. Such a significant figure wouldn’t treat his promises like that fat pig who sold him—was he really going to take care of a dragon?

There couldn’t be a cooler job than that!

Hasting didn’t stay long but left a candlestick with a long, straight candle as white as snow, clearly one that would burn for a long time, before he left.

It was nothing like the black candle ends Amber had previously saved so carefully.

Wrapped in a blanket, Amber curled up in a corner of the room, watching the flickering candlelight without blinking.

Gold coins, a Duke, a dragon, and a rabbit… He wasn’t sleepy at all but felt as if he was in the middle of an extraordinary dream.

He wished this dream could last a little longer.

“That child’s parents should be dragged in a donkey cart to the town hall for a flogging.” Donna, responsible for the meals, fumed to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper early the next morning. “He seems like he’s never eaten anything—you should have seen him in the kitchen. What kind of child doesn’t recognize milk!”

Charlie used his calming voice to soothe Donna’s anger and bestowed upon her the noble task of “saving a malnourished child from dire straits”, which quieted her down.

Unaware that he was nearly at the center of a storm, Amber, having eaten his fill, had already voluntarily run to the courtyard to fetch water.

Because before Emerald awoke, his so-called duty was merely a nominal title—at this time, not just Amber, but no one was allowed near the sleeping Pluto Owl.

Who knows if such creatures would imprint on the first person they see?

Dwight wasn’t willing to take that risk.

“Didn’t you tell Amber we are leaving in two days?” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked Hasting. “Helping with the backyard reconstruction now doesn’t really matter.”

Before Hasting could respond, Shiloh came over grinning. “Let him do some work. Otherwise, he’ll worry he’s eating too much and won’t be able to pay when it’s time to settle the bill.”

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “What?”

The redhead shrugged. “From his looks, you can tell he hasn’t been in a good place before. Too sudden an environmental change can make him sick. Keeping him busy might actually make him feel more secure.”

Donna had exaggerated a bit. Amber was thin, but not malnourished. After all, he had survived in a physically demanding underground fighting ring and starving him into a scrawny monkey would have served no purpose.

But maintaining a diet that paid attention to more than just replenishing strength was impossible. His constant, physically focused diet not only kept him far from being strong but even affected his teeth and stomach, with many everyday foods being completely new to him. Donna’s overly enthusiastic breakfast had left him quite overwhelmed.

“One of the knights fell seriously ill after being brought to Brandenburg as a child,” Hasting explained. “He wasn’t used to it.”

“I didn’t know there were underground fighting rings in Lemena,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said.

The Duke hummed quietly from the other end of the table but didn’t look up from his morning paper.

He was getting used to the noisy mornings. Ever since leaving Brandenburg, it had been hard to maintain the quiet mornings he preferred. His new baseline was that as long as he woke up without hearing animals like donkeys and horses, it counted as a peaceful morning—a dreadful thought he dared not mention to Priscilla.

Priscilla’s caravan was departing today, and some of the personnel taken away by Lestrop had to be replaced. Erica would take this opportunity to become one of them. Her mercenaries would be transferred to Dwight, and after the integration, they too would depart for White Bridge.

Thus, there was a relatively free period for recuperation, and Charlie took the opportunity to roam through several main streets of Lababata—a feat most people would hide if they had a rabbit’s head, but he seemed to take pride in it, feeling it wasn’t enough to show off on just two continents, fearing that people wouldn’t know he was different.

He didn’t just roam by himself. He also took Amber along.

This child always considered himself mature and stable, but it was really hard to maintain such composure in front of Shiloh and Charlie, especially Charlie, who had countless stories and ideas in his head. Even the most ordinary street, through his narration, could become an adventure site. Amber had to exert great self-control not to follow him out for the entire day.

Because he needed to stay and work, Amber seriously thought.

“Don’t wiggle around like a bug in front of me,” Dwight said coldly. “If you can’t wait, go wait on the porch.”

Shiloh laughed heartily, and Amber’s face reddened slightly, feeling somewhat defiant.

Because Charlie said he would bring back many gifts—one for everyone.

He felt even the Duke was waiting.

But seizing the rare opportunity, Amber preferred to wait at the door for Charlie: he couldn’t wait to see what his first ever received gift would be.

However, when he stepped out, he found two tall mercenaries under the porch, their eye color as pale as the ice on snow-capped mountains.

The Duke’s eye color was also light, but it didn’t give the chilling feeling of being seen as a piece of raw meat to be dissected like the mercenaries did.

Amber instinctively disliked them, and the mercenaries didn’t take him seriously either, just glancing at him once before shifting their gaze away, not stopping him from going onto the street.

Charlie didn’t make him wait too long. Almost before the sun had completely set, Amber, who had excellent eyesight, spotted Charlie appearing in the distance and, just as he imagined, carrying a lot of things—the boxes stacked high, almost taller than him, with only the top of his high top hat peeking out, making one wonder how he could see the road ahead.

Charlie’s walking path seemed more chaotic than a clown walking a tightrope on a unicycle—a long box on top wobbled dangerously before being quickly steadied.

He peeked out from the side. “Thank you… Oh, it’s you, Amber.”

Amber took the top few boxes, accompanying him slowly across the street. “You look very happy.”

Charlie carefully observed the path beneath his feet through the gaps in the boxes. “Do I look happy?”

The black-haired boy nodded.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stopped speaking, his ears suddenly twitching.

Unaware but stopping quicker than him, Amber felt something was off and sprang a big step toward the street, his action only slightly quicker than Charlie’s hand pushing him.

A few inches from Charlie’s hand was another hand, with slender fingertips and several beautiful bracelets strung on the wrist.

Although it didn’t successfully grab Amber’s collar, the owner of the hand didn’t immediately make another move but ignored the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and turned to look at Amber, who was tightly holding the boxes.

“I’ve found you.” Sasha, whose skin had darkened a bit compared to that day in the underground fighting ring, flashed an aggressive smile.

“Where’s Erica?” The much taller girl looked down at Amber.

Amber watched her warily but remained silent.

He actually knew the answer to this question—no one had specifically hidden it from him in conversation, so he knew that Erica should have already joined some noble’s entourage and left the capital of Lababata.

But even though Erica hadn’t specifically asked him to keep her whereabouts a secret, he had no intention of answering every question from this persistently pursuing woman.

Seeing him not answering, Sasha stepped forward impatiently and reached for Amber’s shoulder, but someone intercepted her halfway.

Charlie, still awkwardly holding a large pile of items and really unable to free his hands, simply placed himself and the load between the girl and the boy, completely blocking Amber.

“Is there something you need with this child, Miss?” he asked politely.

Hearing Charlie speak, Sasha took a few more interested glances at him, her gaze lingering a bit on his well-fitted waist and legs. Then she widened her eyes and stared intently at his head, as if trying to see through the fur to check if there was a human head hidden inside.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 85

“So?” Shiloh crossed his arms, looking down at the boy standing in front of him.

The boy appeared no older than 12, with messy black hair half-covering his eyes, only revealing the lower half of his face marked with scabs and bruises. The corners of his mouth and the curve of his jaw were stubborn and defiant.

“So, this kid is coming with us,” said the rabbit-headed shopkeeper gently. “Because Erica has other work.”

Shiloh walked around the boy, pretending not to notice his slightly stiffened spine. “What’s your name?”

The boy remained silent.

“It seems he has no name and cannot speak.” Shiloh nodded. “A kid with an unknown background like this, just let him stay in the kitchen then. We’ve been short-staffed there lately.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked, about to say something, but Hasting stopped him with a look, and he held back.

Shiloh casually reached out to pull the boy’s arm. “I’ll take you to meet Aunt Bobo. Her potato soup is truly amazing. I hope you learn quickly—”

He cut himself off mid-sentence as he quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of silver whizzing past his side, almost too fast to see.

The red-haired young knight stepped back only half a step, turned to dodge the light, and instinctively blocked the boy’s right hand. Despite the age and size difference causing the boy some instability, Shiloh didn’t give him a chance to stagger. Before the boy could raise his hand to block, Shiloh had already grabbed him by the neck. The choke hold caused the boy’s eyes to bulge and veins to pop.

Hasting and Charlie, the other two adult men in the room, made no move, watching as Shiloh pressed the boy to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Hasting glanced at the boy’s right hand, which was still unwilling to let go of the dagger despite turning blue from lack of breath and shook his head.

Shiloh slightly loosened his grip to let air into the boy’s nostrils, but he didn’t let him go.

The boy gasped for air like a drowning fish, and after a while, he managed to say a few words in broken common language.

“Not… kitchen.”

Shiloh leaned in close (putting the weight back on) and said smilingly, “Hmm?”

“I want to see the Lord.” The boy’s voice rasped harshly, still gruff. “Erica… said so.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper squatted down. “That Lord is very important to Erica, and it’s not polite to meet him with weapons.”

The boy gasped a few more times before slowly letting go.

The sharpened dagger clattered to the ground.

Only then did Shiloh release him.

“I’ll ask you again. What’s your name?” he said.

The round-faced, round-eyed Shiloh looked surprisingly intimidating at this moment—nothing like the youth who got scolded by Erica and jostled with Eugene.

Hasting seemed accustomed to Shiloh’s demeanor and hadn’t intervened from the start.

“No name. If the Lord wants me, then I have a name,” the boy said as he got up from the ground, not sparing another glance at the dagger.

His speech was halting, but everyone understood.

The boy might have had a name in the past, but the moment he left, that name stayed behind.

And whatever way Erica acquired this boy, the disposal rights lay with the Duke, and only a name given by Duke Dwight would remain with him.

Shiloh snorted through his nose, remaining silent.

“Alright, no need for such tension,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently. “This is Shiloh, behind is Hasting, and I’m Charlie. If you want to meet that Lord, you can’t go looking like this.”

“I will become stronger,” the boy said stubbornly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper struggled to suppress a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Erica might have left in a hurry and not had the chance to tell you, but to meet that Lord, you need to change your clothes first.”

Dressed in a traditional gray hemp robe from Lababata, the boy looked bewildered.

In the end, it took Charlie and Hasting some effort to convince him that Erica hadn’t sent him to be a hitman for some Lord—he was just too young.

Confused and resentful, the boy soon realized that all the men in the house were quite skilled. Accustomed from a young age to environments where fists determined authority, he became somewhat cooperative, though hardly compliant.

Erica had clearly had him cleaned up well, but his messy hair, slight frame, and colorful bruises still made him look somewhat disheveled.

“Our master is of noble status,” Hasting said. “Didn’t Erica mention this to you?”

The boy remained silent.

Erica was strong, much stronger than the fat pig who had treated him like a fighting dog, and that was the main reason he had followed her without resistance.

No matter the reason she had bought him, it didn’t matter; he could fight and was constantly improving. If it was with Erica, he believed he could become even stronger.

But Erica had said someone else had bought him, a noble of high status… In his view, nobles were mostly fat-brained, pleasure-seeking wretches. This arrangement didn’t sit well with him.

Yet, surprisingly, the subordinates of that high-status individual were also very strong. He hadn’t received proper education, but bowing his head under such a disparity in power wasn’t shameful—staying alive was most important.

These strange men told him he wasn’t qualified to meet Erica’s master, and the boy thought they were concerned about his height or that he was too skinny and couldn’t beat the red-haired boy…

It turned out it was because his clothes weren’t decent enough.

Such rules were indeed very noble.

Yet, he was also curious about what kind of person could command such loyalty from Erica and that absurdly strong red-haired boy.

He sat silently on a stool with a large cloth tied around his neck, and every time the sharp scissors clicked near his neck, he had to control his instinct to jump up.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was quite skilled at cutting hair. Shiloh, resting his chin in his hand, watched in amazement as, in less than half an hour, the boy’s tangled hair was neatly trimmed short, revealing a swollen and misshapen face.

It was only after Charlie had cut his hair short that he realized the boy’s injuries were more severe than he had thought (he forcibly pinched the cheeks to check inside the mouth. Fortunately, the teeth were intact, and there were no major issues with the facial bones).

Erica had given the Duke a detailed report on the boy’s background, but neither Shiloh nor Charlie had seen her letter. Just from seeing where the bruises were concentrated and his stubbornness in not letting go of the weapon, they could roughly guess what kind of life he had lived before.

Especially Shiloh. Although Shivers never let him near the underground arenas because of his young age, he knew from other teammates and Erica that occasionally they rescued minors from those places.

But most of those brought out from there had suffered irreversible damage, whether physically or mentally, and most ended up being sent to the countryside to live ordinary lives after recovering.

Thus, after a certain active Brandenburg knight, this was the first time a child had been brought before them.

So Shiloh was no longer angry about his unreasonable attitude, tilting his head as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper magically produce a suit of clothes in the right size and tell him to change.

“Swollen like that,” Shiloh sighed maturely. The Duke might not want to see him.

Injuries on duty were not a big deal. The Brandenburg Knights’ compensation and welfare were always very good.

But if it was swelling from a routine sparring (brawl), the Duke truly would refuse close contact on the pretext of injuring his eyes.

The clock had just struck nine when Hasting came downstairs.

“My Lord is upstairs,” he told the boy, now spruced up.

The boy, originally not nervous, became restrained after half an hour under the worried (?) gazes of the red-haired and rabbit-headed men, and because he had just been beaten by the red-haired man, he turned to look at the Rabbit Head.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. He…”

He paused for half a second, realizing that, eloquent as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to lie outright; that the grumpy Duke was very approachable, so he looked at Shiloh.

Shiloh immediately made himself scarce—joking aside, he certainly didn’t want to accompany him to see the Duke. Who would seek out a boss, especially one known for a bad temper, without good reason!

Hasting kept a stern face. “Sixteen minutes left.”

It was almost the Duke’s bedtime.

Charlie sighed internally.

He and Duke Dwight were still in an odd state of cold war, admittedly initiated by himself, but the Duke wasn’t one to take it lying down either, responding with an even tougher attitude as soon as he realized, which was utterly childish.

So, for now, apart from official matters, the two of them still ignore each other.

“Let’s go,” he said again to the boy, still looking confused. “It’s okay.”

Hearing a knock at the door, Dwight casually tossed a light-colored velvet cloth onto the back of a nearby chair, lifting one leg to admire the large glass jar that had been covered by the cloth.

This size of cone-shaped glass jar with an open top was quite rare, not to mention the delicate patterns on it. For personal preference, the lid was even inlaid with a green gem that resembled deep mountain amber.

Inside it soaked his Pluto Owl.

This guy, after absorbing a certain amount of alcohol, no longer swelled, but neither did it wake up. He could only continue to soak it in high-purity alcohol and observe it every day.

He could swear on the Dwight family’s honor that he had seen the stomach under its wings faintly rise and fall several times! But it just wouldn’t open its eyes.

The door was knocked on again.

“Come in,” he said with a tone of slight impatience, glancing at the boy led by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper who entered the door.

The Duke’s gaze still rested on the glass jar silently.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched him coldly, also remaining silent for a while.

The black-haired boy, standing on an unbelievably soft carpet, found himself caught in a strange atmosphere, unsure if he should be the first to speak.

Mainly because his voice sounded terribly unpleasant now, he’d rather not speak unless necessary…

He looked again at the always gentle rabbit-headed man, feeling an extremely subtle sense of dependence that he himself hadn’t noticed.

Charlie was particularly adept at catching such subtle emotions that were easily overlooked, no matter who the subject was.

He sighed in his heart again.

“This is the boy Erica mentioned, Your Grace.” He finally spoke first.

If it were in the past, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would have found a seat and checked for snacks as soon as he entered the door, without waiting for someone else to prompt him.

But if there was a child waiting to be summoned by the Duke, he couldn’t just look after himself.

Seeing Rabbit Head (forced by the situation) take the initiative to speak and standing properly in front of him for a change, Dwight’s mood finally improved. He lifted his lashes in a gesture of lowering his dignity and glanced at the boy standing there.

Erica had told him that this was a boy whose combat experience didn’t match his age and that he had potential. Even the little girl from the Lion family wanted him.

Dwight didn’t collect combat geniuses as a hobby. Honestly, even without mentioning the Brandenburg Knights, the current reserves alone were quite plentiful. What pleased him more was the behavior of Erica snatching the person from the claws of a Lion, and then Rabbit Head lowering his head first. The Duke of Brandenburg felt that he could definitely sleep well tonight.

Thus, he was also willing to view the boy with a more forgiving attitude.

“How old?” he asked leisurely.

The boy was silent for a while.

For some reason, this Lord called “Your Grace” gave him an invisible pressure, making him feel that even raising his head to look directly at him without permission was unreasonable. He could only instinctively keep his head lowered.

“13 years old,” he said quietly.

If it were Erica or the redhead asking him, he would definitely say 15 years old, since he wasn’t sure of his age anyway.

“Lift your head,” Dwight said again.

The boy raised his head.

With his overgrown hair cut off, the painfully swollen face was completely visible, but the good-natured Duke didn’t mind these details.

He was interestedly observing the boy’s red eyes, a rare color combination.

Black hair and red eyes—an image many scriptures would choose to describe a demon.

Charlie paused for a moment, stepped forward half a step, and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, determined to leave if the guy casually said something nonsense like “Then your name will be Lucifer.”

Dwight gave him a provocative look.

“From now on, you will be called ‘Amber’,” he said slowly. “Once Emerald opens its eyes, you will be responsible for taking care of it. It matches well.”

Before the boy could respond, the rabbit-headed manager frowned and asked, “Excuse me, who is Emerald?”

He didn’t know there was someone named Emerald in this house.

The Duke gestured with his chin, and both the boy and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at the large glass jar. The Pluto Owl, now quite plump, quietly floated in the golden liquid.

The author has something to say:

About Amber.

Charlie: Although Amber sounds like a girl’s name, it’s okay. I was worried you’d choose something like Lucifer…

Dwight: Lucifer? Seems fitting. Maybe I should change it then.

Charlie: Let’s pretend I never said that.

About Emerald.

Charlie: How can you be so sure that the dragon-like creature’s eyes are green? Folk sculptures and picture books come in all colors.

Dwight: I checked by lifting its eyelids. (as a matter of course)

Charlie: Let’s pretend you never said that.

Kinky Thoughts:

There’s an underlying relation in the names of the wyvern (Pluto Owl) and Amber. The term used for Pluto is (冥王), referring to the king of the underworld. Pluto is also another name for Hades.

Likewise, Lucifer is the king of hell, making the relationship between the two names quite apt.

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