Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 55

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had made a promise with Alice.

Before leaving the castle last time, they had agreed on a reliable meeting spot near the kitchen garden. It was the vegetable garden near the kitchen. When Alice arrived, she saw half a Lloyd Rabbit head peeking out from the edge of a haystack, looking almost like a real rabbit under the dim moonlight.

Alice, undeterred by the bushes that might scratch her clothes or the grass stains that could dirty her hem, squeezed behind the haystack without hesitation.

“Listen.” Alice gasped for air. “Mother has gone to the front hall—to speak with the Baron. She knows every girl. I can’t disappear for too long.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said in his reassuring tone, “I’ve found help—a very good doctor. He’s procured a powerful drug for us. Just a little bit dissolved in liquid can put a wild ox to sleep for three hours.”

They planned to give Mistress Daisy, the castle’s watch dogs, and the guests a taste of their own medicine—being controlled by drugs. But when Charlie returned to the castle, he found the plan difficult to execute.

“The kitchen is too crowded,” he whispered. “It’s meal prep time now, so people are constantly coming and going—it’s hard to slip in. I could wait for a lull, but I’m afraid by the time it quiets down, the ball might no longer need food.”

Alice wrung her fingers anxiously.

She had hoped Charlie would find a secret passage or something that would allow them to intoxicate the guests and then sneak away, because Charlie always seemed so capable and sure, and his knowledge of magic had convinced Alice he was an experienced and resourceful man.

“There’s something else I don’t understand,” Charlie said, as if something just occurred to him. “You said the ball is held in the central greenhouse of the castle, right?”

Alice nodded.

Charlie studied her expression, his tone becoming more serious. “What’s interesting is, when we sneaked in earlier and looked at that greenhouse from a distance, guess what? It was just a semicircular glass house surrounded by thick curtains. There are no lights, no music, and no people, just like the flower beds and lawns outside.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible—we were all there. The girls, Mistress Daisy, all the guests, long tables covered in white cloths, roast lamb and apple pies on them, a piano and flute playing, and a huge chandelier hanging overhead. I’m telling you. I just ran out of there!”

“I absolutely believe you,” Charlie said without hesitation. “So I think the problem with this castle is a bit bigger than I thought, but not insurmountably so,” he quickly added, seeing Alice’s expression.

“Just like you said, ‘Only guests with an invitation can attend the ball.’ That might not just be literal. It means that, apart from those already in the castle, anyone outside without an invitation is excluded from that mysterious ball. Even if you put the ball’s champagne under the ‘outsider’s’ nose, they can’t see it.”

This was something Charlie and Erica hadn’t anticipated.

To be safe, they had intercepted the Baron’s carriage. Without anyone using magic disguises, Erica took the Baron hostage to try to get into the ball as accompanying personnel, Dr. Salman could only enter the servants’ area posing as a coachman, and Shopkeeper Charlie was hiding under the carriage, a complete stowaway.

If the plan went smoothly, they would be able to sneak into the kitchen to drug the banquet food or infiltrate the ball to strike at the highest administrator, Mistress Daisy. But after discovering the restriction of the invitation card, their available manpower and opportunities were severely limited.

Alice was almost in tears. “What do we do now? I must, must take Lily and leave. All the girls want to leave. We all secretly agreed…”

Charlie cut her off. “What do you mean agreed? Do the other girls know about the plan?”

Alice looked slightly confused. “Initially, it was just Daphne… She’s really brave. I thought she would agree to the plan, and she did. Then she told a few trustworthy girls because she thought you’d need enough inside help when you act, but then we found out that after we stopped eating the soup, all the girls wanted to leave the castle immediately.”

She looked at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper uncertainly, wondering if she had messed up and upset him by leaking the plan, as he had previously made it clear that for safety’s sake, it was best to keep this matter secret.

“We didn’t discuss this widely,” Alice added nervously. “We’re not allowed to whisper. Most communication was through coded language and gestures. ‘They’ definitely didn’t catch any proof.”

Charlie looked at her and laughed.

“You think I’m upset? No, no, no, how could I blame you for your courage? In fact, I’ve thought of a better way.”

Alice looked at him.

“We don’t have invitations. There’s only one companion who might have entered the ball with the Baron. She’ll help as much as she can, but it might be limited.” Charlie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crystal vial. The pea-sized pills inside glistened in the moonlight.

“But you don’t need invitations. You said all the girls agree with the plan, right?”

Alice seemed to understand and nodded.

“No scent. It dissolves in two seconds and takes effect in half an hour. A tiny pill can put a wild ox to sleep for three hours,” Charlie whispered, cradling the vial in his palm. “You know the rules of the ball, you know the guests, you know how to succeed.”

Alice hesitated, her eyes falling on the vial and then looking up at Charlie.

Those round rabbit eyes were looking at her gently.

“Don’t mind how they see you, Alice,” Charlie said. “You’re not flowers in a greenhouse, but warriors fighting for freedom, and I am quite sure of that.”

The girl with the lace headband looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

She suddenly reached out and grabbed the vial.

Mistress Daisy was furious.

She had high expectations for this early spring ball.

After a long winter with no income, she urgently needed those arrogant and wealthy guests to pay her bills—contrary to what the foolish “Triton River Daily” wrote, she wasn’t a “kind-hearted woman, that’s calm inside from years of selfless and generous contributions.”

Just maintaining the operation of the castle was a major expense: daily cleaning, garden maintenance, kitchen management, and laundry all required manpower, not to mention the extra people needed to guard those ungrateful girls.

Besides, she had bought a garden villa in a small city south of Ropappas, not too far nor too close from here, where she could live in the villa when there were no balls, drink tea in the sun, and attend the gatherings of the town’s noblewomen—those truly elegant gatherings where they wore gloves to drink tea and discussed poetry while wearing the latest fashionable hats.

She had no husband, children, relatives, or friends, and was the sole highest authority in the castle.

Those smelly gardeners and laundry maids thought her third-floor room was the most luxurious and comfortable place in the world, but Mistress Daisy actually disliked it here, which was why she spent a substantial amount of money to acquire another property.

She had been planning this for a long time, drastically cutting the castle’s expenses in order to afford a villa that was previously owned by a Viscountess.

Mistress Daisy had spent her whole life pursuing social mobility. In that city, where no one knew her, she was a wealthy, elegantly-behaved widow, and nobody knew where her wealth came from.

If given the opportunity to connect with the local nobility, perhaps she could donate some money for a title or even marry an elderly nobleman.

The more satisfied she was with the life she planned, the more impatient she grew with the castle, but the castle was her golden goose, and there was no one else to keep it warm for her—Mistress Daisy had no one she trusted; not even the hallway hound was allowed into any of her rooms.

For now, she still had to focus mainly on the castle. At least she couldn’t leave it for too long now because her subordinates were too foolish. Without her oversight, they would incessantly create chaos: some parts of the road had become potholed due to melting snow, delaying the water cart for over an hour, which caused chaos in the kitchen and nearly resulted in the banquet table going without dishes. Then there were passersby who came near the castle asking for water, and a meddlesome servant actually let them into the kitchen, where the curious outsiders kept looking around too much… Although outsiders without invitations couldn’t access the ball, it was still hard to explain why a quiet, desolate castle’s kitchen was busily preparing massive amounts of roast lamb, fruit pies, and sausages, prompting Mistress Daisy to order her sternest overseer, Miss Mince, to handle the matter.

Not just the passersby annoyed her, but also her most prominent guest, the Baron.

He hadn’t gone south for the winter, which made his health weaker than the previous year. This changed his usual habit of attending banquets alone. This time he insisted on having his cousin accompany him: the young man, reportedly studying at a medical school, could attend to him at any moment.

Mistress Daisy was firm on the one invitation, one guest policy, but given that the Baron was the highest status guest that evening and usually very generous, she reluctantly made an exception (only because the Baron hinted that his cousin was also interested in the ball and might soon become an independent guest).

Mistress Daisy put down her pen, looking at the name of the Baron’s cousin, Erica, which she had just written on the list.

This was one of the core secrets of the castle—the key to attending the ball wasn’t actually the invitation, but the names she wrote in this black hardcover book.

Nobody would know that this book, which didn’t need magic to manipulate and turned the whole castle into an enchanted realm, was the “real” key to entering the castle.

It was a peculiar contractual ritual. During the ball, as long as a name was written down, it would be accepted by the rules of the book, entering the realm affected by this book.

As the host, she shouldn’t leave the ball for too long.

She stood up, adjusting her skirt, ready to leave the room, when she caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye of a curtain not properly drawn across a door that faced the study—but if someone observed from outside the castle, they would notice that there was no window there.

She walked over, reaching out to grab the corner of the curtain.

A long, resentful sigh came from behind the curtain.

“Shut up, you wretched woman,” Mistress Daisy said coldly.

The sigh stopped.

The study was quiet for a moment, then a giggle came from behind the curtain, as if a mischievous young girl was hiding there, joking with her.

Mistress Daisy’s expression shifted several times before she disgustedly pulled the curtain tightly shut, sealing the sound behind it.

She closed the door of the study, and the hound she had raised herself sprang to its feet.

“Guard this door for me, sweetie,” she whispered. “Don’t let anyone in.”

The hound seemed to understand her words, lying back down on the mat by the door.

Mistress Daisy picked up her skirt and descended the stairs. Miss Mince was holding a candelabra, waiting for her.

“No suspicious people,” Miss Mince reported quietly from behind her. “This afternoon, a dirty young man with a strange toy didn’t use the main entrance… They didn’t even know this place was part of the city and wanted to find out how to get into the city. Peter let them drink water in the vegetable garden. Coincidentally, the bread had just come out of the oven, and they begged to have some after smelling it, which caused a delay for a while, and they missed the time to close the door.”

Mistress Daisy turned her face slightly. “You didn’t feed them, did you?”

“Not a crumb of bread,” Mrs. Mince asserted firmly. “I scolded them loudly and had Peter lock them in the cellar before the ball.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 54

The Baron’s carriage rolled leisurely along the road under the moonlight, making an unpleasant crunching sound as the wheels ran over small stones and broken twigs.

The coachman was familiar with the nighttime woods and almost didn’t need the lantern hanging in front to find his way.

The Baron was still resting inside the carriage.

His health had been poor throughout the winter, and he had come to this ball only after reluctantly mustering the energy following a visit to the doctor.

He often said to the coachman, “That greedy woman has taken so much money from me. If I don’t go, wouldn’t that money be wasted?”

However, the coachman didn’t quite understand what the Baron was talking about, as he only ever dropped him off at the front door, watching the elegantly dressed nobleman enter the hall. He had heard that when the moon rose, a lively ball would take place in the castle’s central greenhouse, where beautiful flowers bloomed irrespective of the season—lilies, dahlias, red roses, hyacinths. A well-educated lady would play music on the piano all night long, and the guests would dance and enjoy the finest smoked ham and champagne.

Of course, that was what the Baron had told him.

But when he and the other coachmen waited in the side rooms, they never heard those wonderful sounds, smelled any hint of flowers, nor saw any lights.

If he looked towards the hall, he could only see the castle’s dark and grim silhouette. The curtains themselves were dark and gloomy, hardly matching the vibrancy of a grand ball.

He guessed maybe the greenhouse had thick curtains that blocked out all sounds because the Baron indeed looked exhausted yet delighted the next day, as if he had partied all night.

The banker’s coachman had confidently told him that Mistress Daisy was a witch, speculating that there was no ball in the castle at all. He believed that the terrible woman laced the tea and wine with a sedative, making the nobles who traveled there think they had attended a fantastic revelry, but in reality, while they were unconscious, the witch was busy picking their pockets, stealing valuable gold pocket watches and gemstone rings.

But anyone with a bit of sense knew that was impossible.

The castle was nominally a girls’ school, registered at the city hall, and every city hall had a mirror of truth installed by mages at its gates. Any person or item related to black magic would reveal its true form before the mirror, and that lady had even accepted the Baron’s donations at the city hall.

Regardless, it wasn’t his place to concern himself with such matters.

He was a man of few words and never partook in these gossip gatherings. Perhaps that was why the Baron favored him, always hiring him to drive the carriage—regardless of how many times that lady appeared in the newspapers, those in the know understood that she wasn’t very reputable. The respectable gentlemen in the city always secretly attended her gatherings and wouldn’t use their own coachmen.

For him, it was a stroke of luck, as the Baron was particularly generous. Having not gone out all winter, the coachman had lost most of his income and was struggling, eagerly anticipating this job.

Pleased within, the coachman made his way through the forest, knowing just around the next bend, he would see the gloomy, quiet castle—just then, one wheel suddenly tilted violently, startling the horse, and he quickly pulled on the reins to look back.

“What’s the matter?” the Baron asked from inside the carriage, which, being a rental, had no front window and only decorative side windows, so he had no idea what was happening outside.

“Nothing, sir. Just hit a stone. I’ll check now,” the coachman muttered.

It was already dark, and staying in the night woods wasn’t pleasant, but he also feared damaging the carriage—it wasn’t his property, and his stingy boss would make him pay for any damages.

He straightened his cap, took the lantern, and jumped down to inspect the rear wheel.

The wheel seemed fine, and there was no obstruction on the ground. Why had it jolted so violently?

It felt as though someone had stabbed the moving wheel with a stick… The coachman thought suspiciously. He was just about to stand up straight when he felt an intense chill on the back of his neck, followed by a heavy thud on the back of his head. He swayed forward but couldn’t keep his balance and fell without a sound.

“What’s going on?” Perhaps, due to the delay, the impatient Baron asked again from inside the carriage.

He hoped the carriage hadn’t broken down. Although the castle wasn’t far, a gentleman of his stature absolutely couldn’t walk there. The wild grass and thorns would tear his silk trousers.

Nor was he willing to have the coachman run to the castle to call for another carriage. It would be fine during the day, but it was dark now, and he couldn’t possibly wait alone in the woods.

The Baron, who had left in high spirits, was now regretting not bringing an additional manservant… But that arrogant woman insisted on limiting the number of people entering the castle, and even he was not exempt.

It was ridiculous. She was just a maid who had once served some dignitary and now dared to call herself a Mistress in front of him!

If it weren’t for the cleverly hidden and intricate arrangements she had made in the castle, and indeed, if she hadn’t been able to gather so many varied and beautiful young girls, he wouldn’t have deigned to travel to such a remote location… As he was lost in thought, he heard two light knocks on the carriage wall.

“There’s a bit of trouble, sir.” Perhaps the cold had affected him. The coachman’s voice sounded off. He didn’t want to respond, but without anyone else immediately available, he reluctantly opened the carriage door in frustration. “What—huh?”

His voice trembled in fright. The moment he opened the door, a gleaming, medium-sized dagger was pressed against his throat.

A young person, cloaked and wrapped in a headscarf that obscured their face, held the dagger with one hand and braced the carriage door with the other.

“Good evening, Baron,” the figure said calmly, pushing him back before swiftly climbing into the carriage and closing the door behind them. Their movements were smooth, as if they did this every day.

The Baron had faced kidnappings before, but never like this, unarmed and without guards. His age made him fearful of death, and terror caused his teeth to chatter. It took him a while to manage a whisper from his throat. “I…I am…Baron Pensence…”

Erica chuckled silently within her scarf.

Despite both being nobles, this one was nothing like the Duke of Brandenburg. He would never foolishly think that merely his title could scare off those with ill intentions under such circumstances.

This frail man cowered in a corner of the carriage, trembling, making Erica, used to seeing Shivers’ robust knights, who could carry a keg with one hand, think she could knock out three of him with one punch.

She pressed Baron Pensence against the carriage wall with one hand. This pampered man offered no resistance, allowing her booted foot to step on his seat cushion. The tip of the dagger still remained against his throat.

“Don’t be nervous,” Erica said softly. “Just answer honestly, and I promise not to harm a single finger.”

As she finished speaking, the carriage shook slightly and started moving again, slowly heading towards the castle.

It was always the same woman every time that greeted him in the foyer.

Tall and thin, dressed in a high-collared plaid long dress, she never cracked a smile, and her expression was colder than a snow-covered rooftop, resembling a strict governess ready to whip anyone who stepped out of line.

As soon as the Baron’s carriage stopped, she frowned deeply because today’s coachman was a man she had never seen before.

The coachman jumped down from the carriage, removed his somewhat worn soft cap, and looked at her uneasily.

“Who are you?” she asked sharply.

“Athos Grum, ma’am,” the coachman said. “My uncle has severe back pain, so he asked me to work for him today, ma’am. The Baron is in the carriage.”

The woman sized him up, noting his hair was the same dull reddish-brown as last year’s coachman, and his beard from his lips to his jaw was equally thick, so she nodded. “Go left. There’s a row of stables and hay. You can rest in the wooden hut behind, and someone will notify you when the Baron leaves tomorrow.”

After speaking, she stopped looking at him and walked to the carriage door, only to hear the new guy shivering. “Ma’am, I don’t know the place.”

“You—” she turned abruptly to scold him, but the carriage door opened, revealing the Baron’s somewhat pale face.

“Please show him the way, miss,” the Baron said tiredly. “I know where to go. I can go in by myself. I have someone with me.”

“My Lord, Mistress Daisy wishes to control the number of guests,” the woman said with a furrowed brow.

“I’ve mentioned to the Mistress that I’ve been having some lung issues this year, always short of breath—she knows,” the Baron insisted sternly. “Please show my coachman the way.”

Daphne wore a magenta lace long dress, with a neckline open to her shoulders, revealing her swan-like, beautifully white neck and shoulders. The loose sleeves tightened at the elbows, and a rose of the same vibrant color as her dress was tied around her wrist. Her hands were trembling slightly from nervousness, so she hid them under the fluffy skirt.

Alice was sitting not far to her left on a high-backed chair, having tea with a guest, whispering softly—the man sitting next to her with a meticulously kept mustache couldn’t imagine that the girl in front of him was brewing a crazy plan.

No, the girls in front of him were brewing a crazy plan.

For the past two days, most of the girls had secretly carried cold soup in their pockets, dumping it after leaving the dining hall.

That detestable soup indeed sapped their will, turning them into a flock of docile lambs ready for slaughter.

Alice looked at the fine porcelain teacup in her hand, feeling somewhat breathless—for the sake of appearing as slim as possible, the girls not only received insufficient food on a daily basis, but they also had to endure tightly laced corsets that left them nearly gasping for air. They had to take deep breaths every few seconds and couldn’t move too vigorously, or they would easily faint from lack of oxygen.

That was exactly the effect Mistress Daisy and the ball’s guests wanted.

The malnutrition made them look as fragile and beautiful as the flowers in the garden—tulips, lilies, and irises that swayed in the wind and couldn’t withstand the storm!

‘These perverts,’ Alice thought disgustedly.

She took a deep breath, feeling her head swell again—her corset was just too tight.

Just then, Daphne approached, lifting her skirt slightly as she sat beside her, taking the nearly slipping teapot from her. Their eyes didn’t meet.

Alice sighed with relief, stood up, and curtseyed. She said she needed some fresh air and politely declined the guest’s offer to accompany her.

Daphne was dressed beautifully today, so the guest didn’t insist, which made her exit unobstructed. She moved as naturally as possible past several velvet sofas, walking along the wall with floor-length curtains—she had deliberately worn a dark green long dress similar in color to the curtains, almost unnoticed by anyone.

During the open period of the ball, it was the least restrictive time for the girls’ movements, as no guest liked to see dolls who were frightened and stiff, moving only on command. Even the usual overseers who ensured they “behaved” weren’t in their usual places, obviously because the prominent guests disliked all prying eyes.

As she breathed deeply, she quickly left the greenhouse, carefully avoiding two servants replenishing drinks, and slipped into the holly bushes that were half a person tall.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 53

Although the harsh winter had ended, it was still a while before the true warmth of spring. In the chilly spring wind outside the city, Charlie finally couldn’t help but cover his mouth with a handkerchief and sneeze.

Erica’s complexion also looked rather pale. The cold wind outside the city was so strong that it could penetrate fur coats. For the sake of mobility, they hadn’t dressed too heavily.

Fortunately, they had chosen a hidden spot that allowed them to see the road junction while slightly sheltering from the wind, and the tree trunks nearby provided some relief from the chill, allowing them to warm up beside their horses.

“What method do you think the doctor will use to monitor the Baron?” Erica’s face was pale from the wind. Her tidy, short hair was somewhat disheveled by it.

“I don’t know,” Charlie pondered for a moment, then honestly said, “Dr. Salman… It’s hard to say. He’s mysterious, and although he seems to be a good, honest, and brave person, I also think he hasn’t told us everything.”

Erica nodded.

She could sense that Salman’s sense of justice was genuine, but in their conversations, it was apparent he held back some details about himself. This didn’t necessarily indicate a suspicious nature, just that he was a rational person—after all, who would fully open up to strangers they had only known for a day or two?

Erica even suspected that if Dr. Salman himself had discovered Mistress Daisy’s matter, he would prefer to solve the problem independently rather than form a partnership with them.

But what resources could a bachelor who had sold his possessions to leave town, and who typically kept to himself use to challenge someone like Mistress Daisy, who was intertwined with the powerful?

Could it be that Dr. Salman was a hidden wealthy man?

Using money to gain power was something Erica (and the Duke alike) was confident in, but Dr. Salman said he had a better way to enter the Baron’s estate without leaving traces while looking for clues and evidence, and at the same time also monitor the suspect.

Using magic to achieve this would require considerable magical power, something an unregistered mage like Erica could do, but Dr. Salman had made it clear that he knew nothing about magic.

How could a physically weak surgeon accomplish all this? Both the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and Erica were curious.

However, they weren’t the type to overstep bounds. Since Dr. Salman clearly didn’t want to elaborate on his capabilities, they were willing to leave the intelligence work to him and instead stayed ambushed outside the city, deciding to follow the guests to the castle.

Dr. Salman didn’t betray their trust. Half an hour later, as the sound of horse hooves approached, Charlie peeked out from behind a tree trunk and saw Salman in a gray cloak riding towards them. He quickly joined Erica to greet him.

“The cloth merchant will be the first to leave the city,” Salman said, slightly out of breath. “Then, every quarter hour, the bank manager and the theater owner will depart, with the Baron leaving last, using a carriage rented from the bank, without any crest.”

His complexion looked a bit off, either due to fatigue from the rush or because the actions of these individuals indeed confirmed what Charlie and Erica had suggested.

“Their actions are even kept secret from their families, using the pretext of the girls’ school’s charity. The servants who accompany them are experienced, first taking them to the theater owner’s private salon in the city, then leaving through a back door in different carriages. Fifteen minutes later, the first carriage will exit the city suburbs.”

“We’d better wait until the last carriage—the Baron’s—before following,” Erica quickly said. “Mr. Charlie has previously entered and exited the castle without being noticed, which means its security is not as tight as the royal palace or the bank, so there’s no need to split our forces and sneak in separately.”

Both agreed.

But waiting in the woods in such weather was no easy task. They had to wrap themselves in cloaks and keep stamping their feet, but it was impossible to get warm—since they couldn’t make a fire to brew tea, as the smoke would reveal their position.

Erica then took a small bottle of liquor from the saddlebag of her horse and sat down with her back to the main road, cross-legged.

“Have a bit of liquor. It’ll warm you up,” she said. “We better find something to distract ourselves—how about each of us tell a story?”

Both Salman and Charlie, neither of whom were particularly robust, had been chilled to the bone, so they agreed.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper took the first sip of liquor, thought for a moment, and said, “In Maplewood, there’s an old carpenter with not a single book in his home, but somehow, he always has endless stories to tell. One autumn, I traded him a smoked fish for a story about three brothers.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper fumbled for his pipe but didn’t light it.  He leaned against the tree trunk as he spoke.

“Once upon a time, there were three brothers who were very poor, barely able to eat each day. Unwilling to live in poverty, they resolved to become the strongest and wealthiest men in the world. So, they ventured into the world together, seeking their fortune. They climbed many mountains and crossed many rivers.

Along the way, they arrived at a town with a general store. The owner had no children and offered, ‘I’m old and want an heir. If you stay, you can be my sons.’

Thus, the eldest brother stayed to inherit the owner’s wealth.

The second brother and the youngest brother, though realizing they could live comfortably in the town, decided their ambitions were greater and left. They continued on, encountering a forest where a beautiful girl’s horse had stepped into a hunter’s trap.

They rescued the girl, only to learn she was a princess. The second brother returned her to the palace, and the grateful king married her to him. The king had another unmarried younger daughter, but the youngest brother, believing that marrying the princess would bring wealth and status, still felt his ambitions were greater and left alone.

During his travels, he accidentally fell into a valley and met a demon sealed away there. The demon promised that if he broke the seal, it would serve him for thirty years. However, the youngest brother didn’t trust the demon, asking, ‘With such power, you could kill me at any moment. What guarantee do I have that you’ll obey me?’

The demon had no choice but to cut its heart in half and give it to him, saying, ‘Eat my heart, and henceforth, I must drink a cup of your blood each month. If you die, I can’t drink your blood and will fall into a deep sleep.’

The youngest brother said, ‘Let me go back and think about it.’

The demon waited a long time in the valley before he returned, agreeing to break the seal. Once free, the demon grabbed the youngest brother, smugly saying, ‘If I eat you, that half-heart will return to me, and I won’t need to serve you.’

The youngest brother replied, ‘I knew you would renege. I never ate that heart. If you kill me, you’ll never find it.’

The demon was tricked and had to abide by the deal. Unbeknownst to it, the youngest brother had returned and married the king’s younger daughter, having a child whom he had eat the half-heart.

The three brothers worked together to hide the child where the demon could never find him, thereby controlling the demon, gaining countless treasures and an army, truly achieving their great ambitions.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had a great voice. If he wanted, even the menu in the tavern could sound captivating, and time would pass without notice.

The story was a bit long, and both listened intently. If not for Erica being alert enough, they might have missed the two carriages that passed by during the storytelling.

After hearing the story, Dr. Salman pulled out a pocket watch to check the time.

“The theater owner could appear at any moment,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Shall we continue with the stories? We might be running a bit short on time.”

Erica thoughtfully said, “We still have at least a quarter of an hour—since we’re close to the main road, we can stop immediately once we hear the baron’s carriage approaching. Anyway, we are to follow behind him.”

“What Erica said makes sense,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently. “I would also like to hear your stories.”

Dr. Salman thought for a moment, “Alright, then I’ll also tell a story.”

He adjusted his glasses and took the wine jug.

“This story is also long, and I might not be able to finish it.

Once, there was a poor couple who had a son, but that year a natural disaster struck, and they harvested no crops at all. So, having no other choice, the couple placed their son in a wooden basin and let it float down the river.

The basin drifted into the forest and was rescued by four forest nymphs. They led a very lonely and boring life, so they adopted the orphan and taught him painting, poetry, and horseback riding in the forest.

Over a decade later, the orphan grew into a charming young man, and surprisingly, all the nymphs fell in love with him. But the young man was unaware of the nymphs’ affection. He fell in love with an orphan girl he met in the forest while she was picking mushrooms.

The two quickly fell in love and wanted to get married and then travel the world. Before their wedding, the young man invited the girl into the forest to introduce her to his foster mothers and to say goodbye together.

The four nymphs were shocked when the young man brought his lover before them. The nymphs appeared happy for them on the surface but were actually burning with jealousy.

The young man asked his foster mothers to bless his love, and the eldest nymph, reluctantly, wished for him and the girl to love each other forever. Even if they were separated by time and space, they would fall in love instantly upon seeing each other again.

The nymphs prepared fine wine and food, trying hard to persuade them not to travel, claiming the forest was the safest place.

The girl, sensing the nymphs didn’t like her, didn’t drink their wine.

That night, the young man, having drunk the wine, slept very heavily, but the girl stayed awake. When the moon rose, she woke the young man, expressing a bad feeling that if they didn’t leave that night, they would never be able to leave the forest.

The young man told her the nymphs were beautiful and loving, but as they left the room, they heard a fierce argument in the living room.

The eldest nymph, for giving them the blessing of true love, was locked up by the other angry nymphs, who also planned a plot to kill the girl and cast a spell to make the young man forever forget the girl.”

He paused here, intending to drink, just as the sun had set and it had gotten colder.

Suddenly, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper stood straight up and made a “shh” gesture to them.

“I’ve been counting, and the last carriage is here,” he said in a low voice.

Although they only heard half the story, the three quickly buckled their cloaks and mounted their horses.

Dr. Salman, holding the reins, saw that Charlie and Erica still looked somewhat disappointed. He smiled gently and said, “It’s not a story with a happy ending, so don’t look so sad. If you really want to hear it, I promise to find time to finish it for you, but now is not the time. The Baron’s carriage has already passed.”

Erica nodded. “Yes, there are more important things to do than listen to stories—let’s go now and be careful. It’s best if they don’t spot us before we reach the castle.”

---

The author has something to say:

The stories aren’t just fillers.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 52

Surgeons were a highly respected profession on any continent and in any country, and if skilled enough, they could even be appointed as royal doctors to serve the royal family directly.

In Pennigra, there were many nobles who had risen by serving the empire—of course, after receiving a title, they no longer needed to carry a medicine box to visit the palace, but this way of becoming wealthy was as respectable as the guard knight corps.

However, rumors suggested that Dr. Salman wasn’t interested in such ambitions. He not only stayed contentedly in this remote town but also didn’t flatter the nobility and was highly regarded among the common folk.

Perhaps because of this, the news of his departure from Bonan had been deliberately suppressed, and only his old partner, who took over some of the medical supplies and equipment he couldn’t take with him, knew about it.

People like Dabik wouldn’t throw a farewell party for Salman after a deal. It was uncertain if he was still in the town.

But Erica’s generosity made his mouth like a leaking kettle, allowing them to easily find Dr. Salman’s residence.

He lived in a neighborhood a notch higher than Grille Street that was mostly single-family homes, complete with a small front garden and a private mailbox.

The address given by the apothecary was a narrow two-and-a-half-story building with an empty iron balcony railing. There wasn’t even a clothesline, the porch door was closed, and the mailbox was locked—people usually living in this neighborhood were financially well-off and customarily had a doorman or a part-time maid in the foyer, but it seemed quiet and empty now.

“It seems the doctor is no longer here?” Erica stood in front of the porch, thoughtfully looking at the door lock.

“It appears so,” Charlie agreed.

“What should we do then?” Erica asked.

“Ladies’ wishes first,” Charlie tipped his hat to her.

Erica smiled. “I think even if the doctor left town, he might have left some clues in the house.”

Charlie agreed. “Strictly speaking, if the tenant has left and the next one hasn’t yet signed, entering isn’t really breaking in.”

Both had no intention of letting the door lock stop them—only then did Charlie realize that Erica, like him, was an unregistered mage.

According to regulations, all students studying magic should apply after completing their studies, and after passing a centralized examination, they were officially registered in the continental mage directory, thus having the “legal” right to use magic.

Those not listed weren’t allowed to profit as mages, and even displaying magic in public was illegal.

However, Erica’s situation was different from Charlie’s.

Erica was a servant of the Dwight family, and her education and use of skills were ultimately for serving her master—since ancient times, most servants never left their master’s lands, let alone profited from it, so there was no need for registration.

Moreover, the line between magic and sleight of hand was sometimes blurred, and many unregistered mages took advantage of this, acting under the guise of illusionists. There were also illusionists who used tricks to impersonate mages, along with openly nefarious black mages and witches, making the monitoring of mages identities a significant loophole, with unregistered individuals rampant and the Mage Association amounting to little more than a gentleman’s agreement.

Erica’s education system also differed from school-educated Charlie, as the Lemena weren’t keen on magic, so she only specialized in some basic elemental magic based on her innate talent.

She grabbed the door lock with her hand, which gradually turned red from her palm. A shallow layer of flames appeared on her skin’s surface, like a translucent red glove. Soon, the iron door lock visibly melted and deformed—passersby would think she merely pushed on the door for a while before it opened.

“Beautiful fire magic,” Charlie praised as he followed her into the foyer.

“My talent is limited. No matter how hard I try, this is as far as I can go,” Erica modestly said. “I’m not really a mage.”

Charlie smiled and didn’t continue the topic. His attention was already on the house.

The house was as quiet inside as it was outside, with small items like books, teapots, and pipes gone and immovable items like the piano and bookshelves covered with dust cloths. Even the air was dry, as if the kitchen tap hadn’t been opened for a long time.

Anyone entering would think the house’s owner had gone on a long trip.

Both instinctively slowed their breathing and steps, quietly checking the first-floor smoking room, washroom, and kitchen, then stepped upstairs.

The second floor had two bedrooms, a study, and a storage room converted into a lab, still with some glassware not packed away.

There was no trace of Dr. Salman in any room.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stood in the middle of a bedroom, pondering the covered bed and single sofa.

“The house is well prepared. He didn’t leave in a hurry,” Erica whispered. “Do you think he has left town?”

“Not necessarily,” Charlie whispered back. “If I were in trouble, my first reaction would also be to tidy up the house, but not necessarily to run away right away. If the other party is alert enough, they might block me at the city gate or road, and I wouldn’t want to walk into a trap—but I definitely couldn’t just wait at home.”

He paced on the floor, slowly saying, “After setting up the scene, I would probably hide and observe the situation before acting. Maybe disguise myself and go to an inconspicuous bar, or temporarily stay with a trusted friend…”

He pondered.

Erica looked at him as if measuring something interesting, and after a while, she asked, “So what are you thinking about now?”

“I’m thinking, if someone blocked me at home, where would I instinctively hide.” He slowly spoke, suddenly lifting the cloth covering the large bed.

With the dust cloth gone and the neatly arranged pillows and blankets exposed, Charlie knelt down, pushing aside a wicker box under the bed.

“Good morning, Dr. Salman. My name is Charlie,” he said to the man lying under the bed.

Dr. Salman took some effort to crawl out from under the bed, clearly unaccustomed to such activities, and his posture was somewhat awkward.

“I thought I hid quite well,” he said, wiping his crystal glasses. His face carried a slightly embarrassed expression. “How did you—”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tactfully continued the conversation, “Actually, you did well. The first floor was very tidy. I really thought you had left.”

“But then I saw that your lab wasn’t completely cleared out. Leaving the most frequently used items for packing last is something everyone does,” Charlie said as he lifted the cloth from the single sofa. “I’m sorry for intruding into your house so abruptly, but I assure you, we mean no harm.”

This statement wasn’t very convincing, as their act of breaking in was already quite bad. It was quite remarkable that Dr. Salman was still able to maintain his composure and talk to them, but this gentlemanly man had a better temper than they expected.

“It’s alright,” Salman said softly. “I assume you are not here on behalf of Mr. Foley…”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper immediately raised one hand, making a gesture of oath.

“We’d better sit down. Ah…” He looked around and realized there were no spare chairs in the room. Erica and Charlie quickly gave up the single sofa to the host and sat down on the edge of the bed, now re-covered with a cloth.

The young surgeon put his crystal glasses back on his face. His black hair was tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck, giving him a profound and elegant demeanor with his deep-set eyes and high nose bridge.

To alleviate his concerns, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, quite experienced in packing and fleeing, voluntarily explained the reason for their search.

Mistress Daisy’s list included four people living in Ropappas and two from Bonan Town, including well-off merchants and a highly positioned Baron.

It was difficult for outsiders like them to access a noble like the Baron, and the only common person with connections to the nobility was the surgeon. Dr. Salman’s medical skills were so esteemed that even though he didn’t live in the city, the Baron would still invite him over for medical visits—if it weren’t for the pudgy apothecary carelessly boasting about landing a big client in a bar, they wouldn’t have had to corner this cultured doctor under his own bed.

After hearing their explanation, Dr. Salman forgot the burglary-like behavior of the two, and his expression became serious.

“There really is such a matter.” He frowned deeply, looking hesitantly at the two sitting opposite him.

Charlie and Erica quietly waited in agreement.

Salman was silent for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Commoners have no right to discuss the private lives of nobility. My contract with the Baron is limited to helping him regain some health and vigor as he ages. Neither the Baron himself nor his family have ever mentioned anything about the ball outside the city in my presence. However, I have heard about that girls’ school, said to be founded by a lifelong unmarried lady due to her noble character, using her own assets to shelter girls with nowhere else to go—this isn’t a secret. Two years ago, she received a grant from the city hall and, in return, donated a month’s worth of vegetable soup to the charity hospital, which was even reported in the newspapers.”

Erica and Charlie looked troubled.

If all of this were true, it was ironic that a devil who preyed on young girls could transform into a philanthropist in the city.

It was obvious that she could use the excuse that the “school” was filled with young girls who needed strict protection to refuse external visits and could restrict the girls’ movements under the guise of protection without raising too much suspicion, making it seem like the school was just being discreet.

“Only those with an invitation can attend the ball,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said. “Now that we have the time and guest list for the dance…”

“We just need to get the invitation.” Erica understood, nodding at Dr. Salman. “Since you know nothing about this, we won’t bother you any further. I’m really sorry about the lock. I’ll compensate you with a new one.”

“You’re leaving already?” Dr. Salman was somewhat surprised.

“Time waits for no one,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper replied. “I promised Miss Alice I would go back to help her. If we want things to progress smoothly, we need to prepare in advance.”

“Like the Baron’s coachman’s appearance and the usual routes of his carriage?” Dr. Salman said.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tilted his head at him.

“We do not intend to involve you in this trouble,” Erica said tactfully, clearly seeing that Dr. Salman had his own issues to handle. Asking for his help at a time when he was already overwhelmed seemed harsh, so they didn’t make any further requests after he indicated that his private dealings with the Baron weren’t as deep as they had assumed.

Unexpectedly, the doctor stood up from the single sofa.

“Assuming what you said is true, no one can remain indifferent upon hearing such things. I can’t claim to be very noble, but I can’t just politely see you out, close the door, and pretend I heard nothing. That would be shameless behavior.” The tall, thin doctor asked calmly, “What can I do to help you?”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 51

Charlie sat boredly at the edge of an old fountain in the middle of a crossroad, watching the passersby.

Towns near the border had one advantage: they were a melting pot.

During the hour he sat there, he saw several fringe races that would be rare in central cities. For example, the Stone People, who were over eight feet tall and simple-minded. They were a powerful minority prone to accidents due to their hot temper, so they were banned from many rule-abiding areas. There was also a small figure with dark green skin, a high-pitched voice, and a fishy smell, whom Charlie didn’t recognize. He even saw a dwarf walking a half-grown lion across the square, to the nonchalant gaze of the pedestrians.

In this environment, a rabbit head without a cloak didn’t attract much attention. Most people just glanced at him and looked away—admittedly, it was a relaxing feeling, as if he was back in Maplewood, where no one treated him as an outsider.

Though he indeed was an outsider, in every sense of the word.

Idly waiting was boring, so the rabbit-headed shopkeeper casually plucked some grass and wove small birds. His hands were skilled, quickly shaping a green bird in his palm.

A few local children, mesmerized, didn’t mind his peculiar rabbit head and boldly asked him in accented common language to make more.

Charlie perked up and pretended to blow on the grass birds, making them wobble and fly, albeit not high or far, but enough to excite the children.

When he snapped back to reality, he had performed several magic tricks mixed with sleight of hand, attracting a crowd with his top hat upside down on the ground, now filled with coins.

…But he wasn’t here to perform.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper thought embarrassedly, then energetically performed a small fireball spell, earning applause and coin tosses—even a gold coin stood out among a pile of tin and copper coins, as a snotty-nosed child exclaimed, “Wow.”

Charlie bowed to the crowd, scooped the coins into his purse, signaling the end of the show.

Although many were still eager, it was clear the rabbit-headed magician had earned enough, and there would be no more shows. After the crowd dispersed, Charlie dusted his hat and put it on, looking sideways at a young person still standing there, staring unblinkingly back at him.

The only gold coin had come from this person.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The young person, tall and handsome, was dressed and behaved unassumingly. They apologized slightly. “I am Erica.”

Erica had actually arrived half an hour earlier but hadn’t approached Charlie’s impromptu street performance, and instead waited patiently—until the show ended—and joined everyone else in cheering and tossing coins.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper politely bowed, noticing a two-wheeled carriage nearby, so both headed towards it understandingly. Charlie instinctively reached out his hand, but Erica hesitated.

Charlie: “?”

Erica, seeing his rabbit head tilt in confusion, smiled. “You are the first person to treat me as a lady upon first meeting.”

Charlie paused, then withdrew his hand.

“I was presumptuous,” the shopkeeper sincerely said.

He thought Erica’s masculine attire was for convenience in foreign lands, a habit of deference to women when getting on and off carriages, but this was the first time he had to reflect whether such deference was actually needed by the other party.

“No, I am pleased. You’re a true gentleman,” Erica replied briskly, stepping onto the carriage footrest. “My mother says I look just like my father when he was young, which is why the knights see me and start challenging me to duels. Even if I grow my hair long, curl it, and wear a dress, they can’t see their own grace.”

Charlie also got into the carriage, seeing Erica had already taken the reins.

The Duke’s reply to him had been very brief, mentioning little about Erica, only that she was trustworthy.

But after just twenty minutes together, this young person had impressed Charlie—she not only caught up with their schedule after completing tedious official procedures but also arranged a few but effective local contacts and was ready when using the secret communication methods of the Duke of Brandenburg.

No wonder, with a full cavalry at his disposal, Dwight had arranged for her to lead the covert support during their time on the Doran continent. Her authority over force deployment seconded only to Dwight himself, equal to Knight Commander Shivers.

“I arrived in Bonan Town three hours ago. I should have been at the meeting place first, but I was late because I received a possibly useful clue,” Erica whispered, the carriage smoothly driving through the streets—for an outsider, she was unusually familiar with her direction.

But what surprised him more was that she had already obtained viable clues—before he had even entered the town, he hadn’t been idle, but to rapidly locate local information sources, filter truth from falsehood, and pay for it, was not something easily done in two hours.

As if seeing the surprise in those slightly widened rabbit eyes, Erica explained, “Before we set off, I had our contact in town contact the local information broker, offering a high price for information—all the names on the list. I judged whether it was valid or not.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was speechless. Well, this success wasn’t only due to Erica’s excellent execution but also the omnipotent power of money.

As they talked, the carriage had passed through the bustling market, and the scenery by the road changed from various shops and stalls to closely packed, terraced houses, and the roads became much narrower.

“This is Grille Street. Including the next two streets, it’s a middle-class neighborhood of Ropappas. Most residents have a stable job,” Erica said. “The clue I collected lives here. His name is Dabik, an apothecary.”

Strictly speaking, Dabik hadn’t fully moved into Grille Street yet.

The chubby middle-aged man had just signed his lease when Erica and Charlie’s carriage stopped. At the entrance of the house he rented at 15 Grille Street, there were two old wooden chairs and a set of flowered bed sheets—trash left by the previous tenant, yet to be cleaned up and taken away.

Erica approached the door as if she strolled down Grille Street every day and knocked naturally.

Standing behind, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched her seriously whisper to the apothecary that she had been feeling “less vigorous” in bed, struggling to cope with a capricious lover, with an expression somewhat complex.

Not everyone had the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s keen eye.

Dabik immediately believed Erica was a libertine and trusted her difficult-to-discuss condition, examining her up and down for a while, seemingly convinced that such a handsome man having several lovers and seeking an apothecary was reasonable, and without much thought, let them in.

Charlie’s rabbit head did catch the apothecary’s attention. He glanced back several times as he led them to the living room and nearly tripped over a messy box on the floor.

But he didn’t ask any questions.

“I have several things here. Which one do you want?” Dabik said, pushing open a large leather suitcase and pulling over a high stool for them to sit.

“What all do you have?” Erica asked casually.

Dabik chuckled. “Depends on what effect you want. If you want something potent, I have tree frog poison and salamander ashes from the West Coast rainforest. They have some side effects but are cheap and strong.”

Erica’s expression remained neutral. “These aren’t good quality.”

Dabik glanced at her.

It could be seen that the apothecary was busy moving, initially thinking Erica, despite her good looks and simple dress, wasn’t an easy mark, and decided to dismiss her with common goods available on the market.

But as soon as Erica showed disdain, the slick apothecary thought she might be a big fish, and his tone became more patient. “Of course, I have high-quality goods too. Smuggled in golden grass from Pennigra. Sir, I assure you that once you leave this door, you won’t find another in all of Bonan Town that could offer this.”

Erica remained unimpressed. “Don’t try to fool me with these. I heard that you have good stuff for Baron Pansence, that’s why I came here. Did you also present just two blades of grass to the Baron?”

Dabik’s face changed several times—probably wondering who had leaked his private dealings, then recalling his recent bragging at the tavern while drunk, his face turning both green and red, which was quite a sight.

Erica, seeming not to notice his hesitation and embarrassment, continued, “What? You think I can’t afford it?”

As she spoke, she twirled a ruby ring on her finger (Charlie was sure this ring wasn’t on her hand while driving the carriage).

“No, sir,” Dabik said with a pained expression. “I don’t know who the blabbermouth is—cough, it’s not like that.”

Seeing Erica’s expression, he quickly added, “Indeed, the Baron did buy some energy potions from me, but those were for older men, not suitable for you. Also,” he hesitated, “it was mixed by a doctor I know, who had always served the Baron. Now he’s leaving town, and I’ve bought up his stock of potions, and the Baron found me only after that—those potions were specially made for him, and once they run out, I’ll have to mix new ones for him. You’re still young and healthy. Using someone else’s medicine would actually be bad for you.”

This turnover of clients was what allowed him to move from a shared bathroom apartment on Lower Street to Grille Street, though he was too embarrassed to mention this part.

“Doctor?” Erica raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Dr. Salman. He’s the best surgeon in town. Most well-known people prefer to see him—don’t know why, but he suddenly said last week he wanted to vacation in the south and handed off his clients to a few of us that he works with regularly.”

“Dr. Salman? I know him,” Erica feigned surprise. “He’s leaving? Vacationing now?”

“Yeah, we’re also puzzled. It’s almost spring. Where’s he vacationing all of a sudden? But Dr. Salman isn’t sociable. Ask him, and he won’t say much. Luckily, I got there early and bought most of his medicine.” Dabik thumped his chest.

“He seldom mixes medicines himself, but the Baron is nobility. Even Doctor Salman can’t refuse him.” Dabik shrugged. “So, golden grass?”

He tried to steer the conversation back to his business, but his guests’ focus had already drifted.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was only concerned with one thing: that the bigwigs in town were accustomed to seeing Dr. Salman.

But Dr. Salman was leaving.

Charlie, who had been silent since entering, suddenly said, “Is Dr. Salman still in Bonan?”

Dabik looked at him warily, but Erica immediately said she would buy his golden grass, and he brightened up again.

“Dr. Salman hasn’t left town yet, has he?” Charlie continued. “Just in case, it might be better to meet him. If he can mix potions specially for the Baron, he can mix for us too.”

Dabik’s eyes darted around. He usually didn’t like to entertain such talk. But indeed, Dr. Salman had said he was leaving in a couple of days, and doctors rarely mix medicines specially for someone—otherwise, why would he have a long-term collaboration with Dabik?

Since the deal for the golden grass was done, he might as well let these two face rejection. They’d come back to him anyway.

Thinking this, Dabik uncharacteristically eagerly gave them Dr. Salman’s address, rambling about “He’s the best doctor. I’m the best apothecary. Where do I find a partner after he leaves” and such nonsense.

“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “He’s a skilled doctor. We all need him. Why insist on leaving?”

Dabik shrugged. “Who knows—hey, come to think of it, he seemed to have gone on an emergency call outside town, then came back and started clearing his stock. He even rushed to get some medicine from me before leaving. He serves big clients. Maybe he got into some romantic trouble visiting some mistress? Those with status are not easy to offend…” He trailed off when he saw Erica pulling out her purse, his attention diverted.

Erica casually counted the silver coins, asking, “Oh, an emergency? What illness was so urgent? Hope no one was injured?”

Dabik watched her actions, saying, “Definitely not ordinary injuries. He stocked up on lots of anesthetics and hemostatics. Must have been surgery. I asked him, but he wouldn’t reveal a word.”

Charlie and Erica exchanged glances.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 50

“’Investigate the identities of these people’—what’s wrong with that Rabbit Head? Who does he think I am, the King of Mokwen?” the Duke said, frowning as he sat by the window.

A lively gray-blue pigeon hopped around on the windowsill, its round eyes watching him expectantly—Charlie somehow managed to make this pigeon dazed enough to act as a messenger.

Dwight, also puzzled, stared at it, and after a standoff between man and bird, someone behind him finally couldn’t stand it and fed the pigeon a small piece of breadcrumbs.

“The shopkeeper actually has a good sense of proportion. I believe he knows what he’s doing,” Shivers said objectively.

The Knight Commander knew well how difficult his master was to serve, so during a time they were separated unexpectedly, he worried about not having someone to attend to the Duke, fearing his master might do something irrational out of excessive irritability.

For this reason, he had to push Eugene to hurry on the road, so much so that by the time they reached Ropappas, an exhausted Eugene fell into a deep sleep.

When Shivers saw that the Duke, though picky, had settled down properly in the inn, and even that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had given the innkeeper some money to hire the innkeeper’s son to run errands for the Duke, ensuring his comfort without stepping outside, he couldn’t help but speak a few words of thanks for the shopkeeper.

“And that woman is really too much,” the Knight Commander added.

His superior physical condition meant that the forced march hadn’t left a mark of fatigue on his face, and he analyzed rationally. “Her actions are definitely illegal. One person alone couldn’t accomplish this. Surely, there must be influential guests covering for her. Classes below high nobility don’t have the capability to use magic items like flying boxes for secret travel like the King of Mokwen, so the town where the guests are staying can’t be too far from the castle—the shopkeeper has already got the names and addresses, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to investigate.”

“Oh, you want to help him?” Dwight said slowly. “Who was it that burst in here three hours ago, knelt at my feet, and swore ‘never to leave your side again’?

“…I say this because ‘they’ have finally arrived.”

Dwight lifted his eyelids and gave the slightly embarrassed Knight Commander a look.

In fact, for someone of Shivers’s temperament, being able to hold back from rushing out immediately to help flatten the castle with that Rabbit Head and rescue the innocent girls was already a great restraint.

“There’s no ‘them’,” the Duke corrected him. “Two days ago, Erica’s letter arrived. Your little brother has been lost for a while now, and still, no one knows where he is. Everyone else has their own uses.”

Shivers became even more embarrassed when he heard this.

“Let Erica go,” the Duke said nonchalantly. “The Rabbit Head will thank me.”

The Knight Commander’s eyes lit up, then his mood became complicated again.

Always Erica… The excellent Erica.

That was the condition for leaving Lemena back then. A journey with just one knight was too worrying, so the Duke had agreed to the old butler’s request to have the Knight Commander accompany him for protection and also to dispatch other men to infiltrate the Doran continent secretly for support.

The leader chosen at that time was one of Shivers’s knights and Shivers’s lifelong rival, the butler’s child, Erica.

Everyone said that Shivers was as handsome as a brilliant sun, his every move graceful and compelling, but Erica was tall and handsome, excellent in swordsmanship, and also had insights into literature and art. Shivers had always been confident that his efforts wouldn’t be inferior to anyone, but Erica’s presence always gave him a bit of pressure—when he was younger, he even suspected that the Duke might prefer to make Erica his Knight Commander.

But he quickly suppressed this trivial annoyance and uncorked the ink bottle to write a letter to Erica.

Unlike the Duke’s party, Erica’s team entered the Doran continent officially as merchants, which meant dealing with complicated procedures, declarations, and documents much easier for Erica.

They wouldn’t meet face to face, but Erica would provide all possible support—with the power of money.

As for some fool who had gotten lost, the troubled Shivers didn’t want to mention him for the time being.

His knight squadron was strong enough to survive anywhere, but not providing backup with Erica felt like dereliction of duty, and Shivers, who had always been secretly competing with Erica, felt like he had been stabbed in the back while writing the letter.

It was probably because Shivers’ troubled expression was too obvious, the Duke, who had been tormenting the pigeon with a bread stick for a while, suddenly seemed to remember something and said, “A few knights also came with Erica. Let them stay in Syriacochi.”

Shivers understood. “Because of Lady Priscilla?”

At this moment, with no outsiders around, Shivers and the staff of Brandenburg still preferred to use the old title “Lady” rather than “Madame”*—perhaps out of some kind of maternal family psychology, everyone had some complaints about the man who she married who was far away. However, the Duke, who always valued etiquette, never blamed them for it.

*Clarity: In this case, Lady is equivalent to Miss, while Madame is equivalent to Mrs. (married).

After their bold intrusion into the royal palace, the security at the Mokwen palace was expected to increase by two levels, and organizing insiders during this time would be too difficult. Besides, Priscilla wouldn’t stay long at the palace, but managing a temporary base to keep an eye on the palace and the Earl’s residence was still necessary. Having the Brandenburg knights, who were also familiar with Priscilla, perform this task was suitable. It wasn’t an issue, even if Erica was temporarily absent.

However, one thing that always concerned the Duke was that the cause of death of Tifa’s mistress seemed too familiar.

Whether it was Eugene witnessing the tragedy in the dark alley or the oddities at Thorn Manor, the common point was too striking to ignore. The victims were all pregnant women.

The Duke casually threw the whole bread stick at the pigeon, still hopping on the windowsill. The bread was almost as big as the pigeon itself, which made it extremely happy as it pecked vigorously at it.

These few days of brief rest finally gave him time to connect the events he encountered after entering the Doran continent.

As a hereditary noble, he had read many books and documents on magic, but those mentioning “gestation” were few.

Strictly speaking, the content about needing human “gestation” was scarce. Magic, although marvelous, couldn’t create something out of nothing. In some ways, it must follow natural laws.

Just like humans and wild beasts naturally had reproductive isolation, no matter how many crazy alchemists throughout history had tried to refine elements from humans and other races to create new life, all had ended in failure.

Although there may be similarities in appearance, the bloodlines of humans, angels, demons, mermaids, and elves were incompatible. Mixed-race lives only existed in fantasy stories, and even the evilest of black magics could only take life or change life forms, not create out of nothing.

This had always been an infringement of the domain of the gods, destined not to succeed.

Of course, there were madmen with wild ideas, but Dwight didn’t believe there could be so many people suffering from the same madness at once.

If those poor pregnant women who died tragically weren’t experimental subjects for magical creations, then what were they?

He hadn’t forgotten the non-human creatures he accidentally encountered that night, which Rabbit Head called “Lamp Bearers”—if they really came because they listened to the whispers of demons, what exactly were they after? Did the appearance of Yitzfa indicate that the Fox family was also investigating… or following up on this matter?

If the Fox wasn’t just gathering intelligence but was a participant in the events, then the other Black Gold Families couldn’t be uninvolved either. No one understood better than the high nobility the severe rivalries and constraints among the few major families in the underground empire, which was also why they found it difficult to overthrow the existing struggle for power to seize the mantle of authority—power was too evenly balanced, yet there was no common faith. The dark families were like independent hyenas.

Currently, there was too much missing information, and a severe lack of manpower made the Duke somewhat passive, but once Erica appeared, the situation would be different.

Unlike Shivers, who was nearly invincible in close combat, Erica’s strengths lay in her smooth handling of situations and strong coordination abilities.

Even though she only took ten gold coins when she left Lemena, Erica managed to appear when her master needed her, bringing an entire caravan or a mercenary troop—or both.

Shivers always maintained an unnecessary, subtle hostility towards Erica, but actually, Dwight knew well that the areas of their expertise didn’t conflict.

“Not far downstream from where we were separated, there is a secluded estate,” Dwight said. “There are farms, a mill, and vineyards, and in the mountains, there is—” He saw the Knight Commander’s eyes widening and paused.

“There’s also a mansion in the mountains,” Shivers continued. “Originally, Eugene and I thought you might be there! We planned to wait there to meet up, but…”

Dwight raised an eyebrow, remaining silent.

“But as we approached, the area gave me a bad feeling, I judged that you would not settle in such a place. Before leaving, we saw…” Shivers hesitated, seeming troubled about how best to phrase it. “Strange things. I couldn’t make out their faces, but they gave me a very bad feeling.”

Perhaps feeling that his description was too vague, he added, “My intuition told me not to approach them. The accessories you wear are blessed by the God of Light, which repel dark creatures, and you should feel the same way I do.”

On this point, Shivers truly had a unique talent.

Perhaps because of his straightforward and generous nature, he showed a good talent for the clergy when he was very young. If it weren’t for his own strong physical constitution and his preference to join the knights, he would now be holding holy water in his hands instead of a sword.

Even without deep study, Shivers’ keen sense of dark forces still far exceeded that of ordinary people, and this was one of the reasons he had defeated many competitors to firmly hold the position directly behind Duke Dwight.

Often, the Knight Commander was like a human-shaped early warning device. When malicious black magic was still around the corner in the streets, his hair would stand on end like a wildcat’s.

“That estate is very strange,” Dwight said calmly. “I trust your intuition, and I trust my own. I believe that the secrets buried in that estate are connected to the answers we are seeking.”

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 49

“Escaping” was taboo in the castle. It wasn’t just acting on it. Even uttering a similar-sounding word could result in a terrible fate. Trust among those around was nonexistent. No one knew who would report them to Mistress Daisy—the moment the thought arose in anyone’s mind, severe punishment would be administered.

Daphne had been at the Black Castle longer than Alice and knew the rules and what to fear even more deeply. She knew that if she reported what Alice had just said to Mistress Daisy, her current roommate could disappear—like her previous roommate Heather, possibly becoming fertilizer in the rose garden or being carted away to be dumped where the hyenas roamed… They never came back. Alice surely knew this too.

Daphne didn’t know if she was insane, but she seemed to have no regrets about what she had said—she even appeared unafraid. Under Daphne’s suspicious gaze, she was just nervously, overly excitedly shaking, her eyes staring intensely at her.

“Do you not want to leave?” Alice asked again.

Daphne almost jumped on the spot like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“You’re crazy,” she said quickly. “Shut up.”

Alice stepped closer.

“I’m not crazy. I’m going to find a way out of this hellhole, with Lily. If possible, everyone will leave together.”

Daphne, normally so haughty, lost her bluster and said in a panic, “I’m going to report you. Yes, I will tell Mother, and you’ll be in big trouble.”

Alice didn’t move closer. She stood her ground, watching Daphne coldly.

“You won’t,” Alice said. “Because you want to leave too. Don’t you remember Heather? I’ll tell you. I have a way—”

“Stop!” Daphne cut her off sharply, then quickly averted her gaze, grabbing a glove haphazardly, bumping into Alice, and stumbling out of the room.

As Daphne’s figure disappeared down the corridor, Alice slumped to the floor.

This castle wasn’t a castle in the strict sense that it was home to the nobility. Without moats or watchtowers, it only had large floor-to-ceiling windows hidden by heavy curtains and ancient carpets in the corridors.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, it was dinner time for all the girls. They were arranged on either side of two long tables, each given a chunk of coarse bread and a serving of cold pea soup.

Mistress Daisy didn’t always stay in the castle, but whether she was in town or not, two tall, silent men with grim faces would monitor the door. They helped in the kitchen and also acted as Mistress Daisy’s enforcers when needed.

Alice had little appetite but slowly finished her bread. After dinner, Daphne, who hadn’t made eye contact during the meal, caught up with her in the corridor.

“Bringing food for your little sister again?” she asked with a hint of provocation.

She knew Alice had been secretly saving her soup for several days, heating it with a candle stub for her sister.

Alice, usually intimidated by the strong-willed Daphne, felt an unusual mix of concern for her sister and accumulated anger, allowing her to respond coldly, “Yes.”

Daphne eyed her suspiciously, as if confirming whether Alice had lost her mind. “You…”

As the crowd began to thin out from the stairs, with the guards some distance away, Daphne seemed to make a decision, her voice low and tense, “You said you had a way?”

Alice stopped in her tracks, appearing calm.

“Yes,” she said.

The castle’s security was unexpectedly weak. For some reason, the castle’s owner seemed to think it was unnecessary to invest much in security. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper spent only slightly more effort to understand the general layout and some “secrets” inaccessible to the girls.

Among the so-called “managers”, there were no proper mercenaries. The men capable of acting as force numbered no more than five, and the kitchen staff and stable boys were hardly a threat.

This was quite contradictory. Although the girls appeared weak due to long-term malnutrition and mental torture, according to Alice, if over thirty girls were determined and courageous enough to unite, they had a chance to revolt successfully.

But no one seemed to have ever considered this before.

This was telling—controlling so many people with non-violent means either meant that Mistress Daisy was a master hypnotist, or she was using magical powers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper inadvertently discovered the answer during an investigation (while snacking on some bread). He found a handwritten recipe in a spice cabinet in the kitchen listing several hallucinogenic plants combined with one or two basic magical ingredients. Anyone literate could follow the recipe to brew a pot of potent potion.

It appeared the girls were being drugged through their food.

Such a rudimentary potion might not be very effective at first, but over time, a cumulative effect was inevitable: the will to resist softened, and in worse cases, completely subdued, eradicating all rebellious thoughts.

Charlie rubbed his furry chin. Considering this, the shaking girl Alice, who could still struggle for self-preservation and covertly gather information under such conditions, must either have been clever enough to dump her food or was extraordinarily brave, or perhaps both.

“The ball” was the core secret of the castle. Mistress Daisy once boasted to the girls that only selected guests were invited to participate in the balls held under moonlight.

“They use special invitations to pass through the castle gates, seeing the girls who bloom like flowers under the moonlight,” Alice told Charlie. “Anyone uninvited would only see the cold stone walls, black velvet drapes, and silent furniture.”

In the limited time available, the girl provided the stranger with all the information she could. While Mistress Daisy wasn’t in the castle, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper ascended the long spiral staircase to the top-floor library.

Unlike the guards who could be mistaken for ordinary farmers if they picked up a hoe, the highest floor of the library had an unusually guarded entrance—a tall, straight-backed borug hound with a fierce look.

Just as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper stepped onto the last segment of stairs, the hound perked up its ears and growled lowly—prompting him to immediately retract his step.

A bit of a problem.

These dogs were large, agile, and notably aggressive. They were originally bred for hunting, but because of their ferocity, they had recently become fixtures in the fighting pits of certain underground arenas. With exceptional senses and quick reactions, it was nearly impossible to slip past one into the gap between it and the wall behind it without alerting it, even though he could see the dark walnut door behind it.

The girls might have no way to deal with such a terrifying creature—just hearing its barks from a distance was enough to keep them away from the top-floor corridor.

Unfortunately for it, dealing with hounds was precisely what rabbits excelled at.

The borug hound was physically strong but notoriously distractible—a trait it had yet to overcome. Charlie hid at the corner of the stairwell, listening intently to the sounds from the study while discreetly pulling a wind-up pocket watch from his pocket. The clock showed it was nearing midnight. Due to frequent use, the watch gleamed under the candlelight, making it quite conspicuous.

He dismantled the watch case, fiddling with the gears for a moment until four spring-loaded, suction-cupped, slender legs popped out from the sides of the now oval watch—it was a peculiar gadget he had acquired from a nearly bankrupt shop near the border during his travels across the continent. The shop was filled with bizarre mechanical trinkets that operated mainly on mechanics, noted for their unusual uses and low production.

Locals considered it a novelty joke shop and rarely patronized it, but the rabbit headed shopkeeper saw these gadgets as no less intriguing than magical artifacts and had negotiated a fair price for them.

The transformed watch, resembling a glittering golden spider, was set down by Charlie and swiftly scurried away. Five seconds later, the loud alarm rang out, almost simultaneously followed by the hound’s barking.

Charlie, pressed against the wall, waited until the hound chased the watch towards another staircase before darting into the corridor and turning the doorknob.

Mistress Daisy’s study was as he had envisioned it—walls up to the ceiling covered in deep purple wallpaper, decorated with many ornate plates, mostly featuring intricate patterns. The room was cluttered with several walnut desks and cabinets haphazardly placed, including a single desk without a chair that held only a large black leather-bound book and another desk that held a teapot and alarm clock. Only one desk looked actively used, equipped with an ink bottle and quill pen. All the desks were draped with lace cloths.

Upon entering, Charlie understood why the hound hadn’t detected him immediately while he was on the stairs. The room’s fireplace was out, but the air was filled with a heavy aroma of mixed spices, almost pungently overwhelming. This scent nearly pervaded the space, insurmountable even by the front door, causing any fine sense of smell to falter after prolonged exposure.

Charlie quickly shut the door behind him. Perhaps the owner was overly confident in the hound’s capabilities, as most drawers in the study were unlocked. He casually opened one, mostly filled with various styles of envelopes, along with a few documents and newspapers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t sit down but stood by the desk, examining a letter that had already been written. The ink bottle was capped, and the quill was neatly placed in its holder, prompting him to lean in to read the letter.

Respected Mr. Fritzsche,

We have received your donation for the girls’ school. The funds will be used for repairs to the school ceilings and purchasing outing dresses for the students.

As a token of our appreciation, I cordially invite you to join my tea party on the third Friday of this month to discuss details concerning the procurement of the spring outing dresses.

Yours faithfully,

Daisy Miller

There was no spare blank envelope next to the letter, nor anything that looked like an invitation.

After pondering for a moment, Charlie placed the letter back on the desk and turned his attention to a cabinet beside the desk. The top drawer’s handle was notably smoother than the others. Quietly rifling through various files, he managed to find useful information and left the study unnoticed before the watch lured the hound back.

Although the watch’s springy legs were thin, they were fast—it moved like a real spider across the carpet, ringing intermittently just when the hound was about to lose its trail.

The hunting instinct completely distracted the hound from its guard duties. It chased the watch around several times, and by the time it returned panting to the study door, Charlie was already pocketing the nearly wound-down watch at the staircase.

The documents and letters in the study offered much more detailed information than Alice had provided. He now had a good understanding of the true nature of the castle—Mistress Daisy was using terror tactics to control the girls, forcing them to stay and serve the guests like dishes on a buffet at her parties.

Meanwhile, she masqueraded as a benefactor who established a boarding school for young girls orphaned from their families, using her role as headmistress to mingle with local dignitaries for donations and investments.

Fortunately, this wicked woman was so paranoid that even the castle’s “managers” weren’t allowed in the upper corridors—she trusted only the simple-minded, strong-bodied hound, perhaps believing only an animal could truly keep her secrets.

Unfortunately for her, she encountered the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Always considering himself quite capable, Charlie felt his evening’s goals had been largely met. He adjusted the top hat on his head, climbed over the cold walls, and took one last look at the dark silhouette of the castle in the night before leaving.

He pressed the half-sheet of paper in his coat pocket—the names of the guests for Daisy ‘Headmistress’ Miller’s next tea party were scribbled there.

Only those individuals possessed the invitations needed to attend the party.

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