Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 76

It was hard to say whether the Duke of Brandenburg’s luck was indeed extraordinary, but after absorbing nearly a whole basin of liquor, the black Pluto Owl’s limbs spread out, showing signs of coming back to life.

It was difficult to explain what exactly was happening—whether this rare bird was mistakenly mixed into a batch of dried bats being sold cheaply as medicinal material or that it actually absorbed several times its own volume of liquor and truly regained elasticity. Both scenarios were astonishing.

If it wasn’t for Dwight, who purchased it, this precious animal’s fate would most likely have been to end up boiled in a pot with other bats (and it probably wouldn’t even have softened properly), eventually being discarded as waste in a ditch.

That said, even the Duke himself hadn’t expected his impromptu idea to actually rehydrate this dried little creature, and using expensive liquor for its bath wasn’t something just anyone could manage. Before it was even certain that the Pluto Owl could be awakened, the gold coins Dwight had spent had already made Eugene feel physical pain.

Regardless of everyone’s curiosity, the cast-iron basin was moved into the Duke’s room—nobody knew whether this creature would imprint on the first person it saw upon waking, and Dwight decided not to take any chances.

During this time, apart from Hasting, few were allowed into his room, but for some reason, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper again became an exception to the rule.

Even Charlie himself was surprised by this, as Dwight’s interest in and care for the Pluto Owl was obvious. He had thought this serendipitous treasure would at least let the Duke incubate it quietly in his room for a few days. So when Hasting came to invite him, he briefly wondered if he had inadvertently done something recently to irritate the Duke.

The conclusion was that he had not.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper wasn’t one to hesitate. Since the Duke had requested his presence, he entered the room openly, already having prepared his speech to persuade the Duke to meet his sister in some city along the route of the slow-moving Earl’s caravan, and not to get involved in the complicated no-man’s land of White Bridge—it wasn’t worth it.

The Duke seemed to have sensed his thoughts and didn’t immediately discuss this matter.

Charlie’s journey on the Doran continent was supposed to have ended theoretically when Columbus was laid to rest in the castle, and so far, this man hadn’t revealed any unfinished desires or destinations in front of everyone.

Thinking about it, he had lived with a rabbit’s head for several years. Even Dwight couldn’t guess what price might tempt this “salted fish*” to make an effort again.

*Term used for someone who is lazy and unmotivated, lacking ambitions.

However, after considerable thought, the Duke also didn’t want to send him back to Pennigra. He had previously reached an agreement with the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, asking him to help resolve Priscilla’s difficulties within his capabilities.

But “capabilities” was a bit ambiguous, and Charlie wasn’t Eugene. It was difficult to compel him with wealth or authority to do something he didn’t want to, so Dwight had recently concluded: dealing with a rabbit required a less direct approach because of their wide field of vision, and reckless moves were likely to come up empty.

One must be circuitous.

Charlie watched as Hasting set up a tea table with orderly precision, even pouring him a cup of hot apple tea, which made the hair on the back of his neck stand up a bit in alert.

However, Hasting didn’t join their conversation, leaving the room after setting up, giving the rabbit-headed shopkeeper a moment to glance around. He noticed the large iron basin with the Pluto Owl was hidden behind a screen, and judging by the Duke’s cautiousness, he might have even surrounded it with a circle of baby curtains.

“At the moment, there are no signs of the Pluto Owl waking up.” Seeming to read Charlie’s thoughts, the Duke relaxed, crossed his legs, and stroked the gem on top of his cane. “I guess besides alcohol, it needs another catalyst.”

“You could try consulting the Mage Association, or perhaps the old professors at the Comprehensive Academy who specialize in biology. They usually have some insights not shared with the public,” Charlie casually suggested. “Or you could ask Shivers to inquire with Yitzfa again. Although it’s an academic issue, I believe they would find a way to answer your questions if the reward is right.”

The Duke looked up at him, ignoring this digression.

Did this guy think he didn’t think of these things?

But the traces of the Pluto Owl had been lost for decades, and to describe this creature as merely “rare” no longer sufficed. Dwight didn’t want to leak the fact that he possessed this treasure on someone else’s territory. Honestly, he already had enough troubles.

“I’m not here to discuss this with you.” The Duke found that if he was too roundabout, the other person could stretch the topic to the ends of the third continent, so he took out a booklet from the drawer and handed it to him.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper took it skeptically and found it was the catalog for the Wolf annual auction.

Just as he had suspected. Everything about this auction targeted at the elite spared no expense. The edges were gilded with copper, the purple-red cover featured no text but was covered with gold foil inlaid with a wolf’s head.

The edges of the parchment were neat and sharp, flawless, and with lifelike illustrations of the auction items inside, this level of craftsmanship indeed had the merit to attract collectors to spend big.

Holding the catalog, Charlie gave the Duke a strange look.

He had never hidden his distaste for the Wolf family, and with the Duke’s perceptiveness, it was impossible not to notice—could it be that he wanted to tempt him with the treasures in the catalog to go to White Bridge?

This somewhat underestimated his willpower. Besides, everything at the Wolf auction was an heirloom fetching astronomical prices. Although he couldn’t say he was penniless, spending all to acquire a single treasure wasn’t his style.

Hm?

He considered a possibility. Charlie’s ears twitched slightly, but he quickly suppressed the urge to perk them up.

Could the Duke be intending to pay his way as a form of companionship compensation?

This was the Wolf auction, where the starting price of any item was a figure ordinary civilians wouldn’t even dare dream of. Did he really need him to accompany him that badly?

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who had resolved never to step onto the prairie of the wolf’s territory, was inexplicably swayed.

This was, perhaps, a bit too generous.

Charlie looked up at the Duke, who hadn’t noticed how wildly his thoughts had fluctuated in that minute, and instead leisurely sipped his tea.

So, he turned back to browse the catalog.

Because of the large scale of the auction, the catalog only included the most sensational items from each category, making it not too cumbersome to browse, but Charlie’s movements slowed as he flipped through the pages.

The reason was simple. The content of the catalog somewhat exceeded his ethical threshold.

Due to his aversion and rejection, he had never paid close attention to the well-known Wolf auction, mostly learning about it from public gossip, like when a king’s private collection of magical items fetched a shocking price at one auction, whose purpose was merely for a bedroom toy, and other such rumors.

This was his first direct encounter with the auction, and he discovered that in this event, the line between “creature” and “item” was terrifyingly blurred.

Apart from jewelry, potions, and magical items, the auction’s disregard for life shocked Charlie.

In the [Magic] category, potential clients could see various races available for selection—his page-turning halted.

Dwight set down his teacup, finally looking at him squarely.

Charlie stared at the page he was holding, expression unreadable.

“When did you find out?” he asked quietly.

The Duke’s gaze also fell on the opened page.

As he expected, the other had found it difficult to skip over the [Magic] section and had read through the entire catalog.

“Last night,” the Duke said. “I wasn’t interested in the items and hadn’t unsealed it. After sunset, when the Pluto Owl stopped absorbing, I got bored and picked it up, and I came across content you might find interesting.”

Charlie took a deep breath.

The catalog in his hand was flipped to about a third of the way through, and the page was clearly written in cursive:

One of the Three Great Astrologers – Kurt

Mentally stable, no fatal injuries, recoverable

The illustration was of a man of medium stature sitting on a wooden armchair, dressed in a gray robe, with gaunt cheeks, an ordinary appearance, and an expressionless face.

Besides this, there was no other background.

If this image hadn’t appeared in the Wolf auction catalog, many people would laugh it off and casually toss it under the table. “This is Astrologer Kurt? You could grab a dozen men like this in any city’s bookshop.”

Only those who had really met Kurt knew what the legendary astrologer looked like, and unfortunately, the two people in this room had both met him.

“I’m giving you this not just because of Priscilla, but because of him,” the Duke said.

Honestly, he too was surprised the first time he saw this page because the last time he had seen this man, he was well-hidden in the Green Forest, a place so secretive that not even a bird could enter without permission. He couldn’t imagine how the Wolves had the capability to storm in and capture the astrologer.

“I thought the Green Forest was safe enough,” the Duke said.

He didn’t explain to Charlie that he had never disclosed the astrologer’s location to anyone. He believed the other wouldn’t doubt him on this point.

Because the Duke of Brandenburg had no reason to do such a thing.

Indeed, Charlie nodded.

“The Green Forest is flawless as a hiding place, but it’s not a place humans are allowed to stay for long,” he said. “My deal with him is over, and now it’s no harm telling you—he sought a safe place from me, just for three years, which was the maximum duration I could negotiate with the Heart of the Green Forest. When I took you to visit him, it was the last winter of those three years.”

Dwight stared at him without speaking.

Sometimes, the information revealed in Charlie’s casual remarks made him ponder repeatedly.

Before entering the Green Forest, the Heart of the Green Forest was more of a spiritual symbol among the people, an enigma, including for Dwight, the Lord of Lemena.

Yet, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could communicate and even trade with such an entity, which was more intriguing than his connection with the astrologer.

Charlie understood what Dwight’s look meant, but he wasn’t planning to elaborate.

He knew his business seemed mystical to many, but really, it wasn’t hard to understand.

Besides gods, any being with a will had desires and limitations, and he was merely an intermediary. Many deals utilized the powers of his clients, and in this respect, the Heart of the Green Forest and Kurt were no different to him.

“With his capabilities, he should have been able to find another hiding place after our deal ended,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said softly, his gaze falling on the line “mentally stable”, showing some impatience as he closed the catalog.

Those annotations weren’t describing Kurt’s health but indicating that Kurt’s abilities as an astrologer hadn’t been overly diminished—because astrologers primarily relied on their mental strength to perform, the more stable their mental state, the closer to reality their predictions would be.

On that page, ‘Kurt’ didn’t exist.

If not for the need to differentiate him from the other two existing astrologers, even his name wouldn’t appear in this catalog.

---

The author has something to say:

The term “magic” refers to nu li*; the items in this category of the auction bid on their mastery of magic or racial talents.

*Term in Chinese referring to great effort to strive to try hard.

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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 75

When Hasting left the room, it was already past two in the morning.

Dwight, still at an age where his bones were growing, theoretically needed plenty of sleep, but the reports from Shivers and Erica had left his thoughts in disarray. The only one who dared to strongly advise him to rest, the old steward, was far away in Pennigra, so the troubled Duke capriciously chose not to go to bed.

The old steward had taken great care in educating Erica. In this unfamiliar land, the girl had arranged the best possible environment for the Duke within her abilities—the wooden carved desk in his room was very similar to the one he used at Brandenburg, and the setup included paper, pens, and a crystal-decorated lamp according to his habits. However, there were also a few additional items he had placed at hand: a tray with mint hard candies next to a palm-sized glass bottle, inside which a tiny, dried bat was soaked in clear water, looking like a strange specimen.

The bottle was procured by Hasting, and the soaking was Charlie’s idea. Whether for cooking or medicine making, soaking was the first step in processing dried goods.

Dwight was ambivalent about it, but the clear water at least served to dust it off, making it look less filthy.

The water in the bottle was changed daily, yet to no effect. The little bat still remained dry and shriveled in the clear liquid, showing no signs of swelling.

Dwight himself couldn’t even explain the peculiar feeling he had when he first saw the dried bat. Sitting on the sofa and staring at the bottle for a while, he suddenly wondered: Could this thing just rot from being soaked?

Thinking this way only made it harder to stop—the thought of a creature rotting in water, the ensuing stench and gathering of microbes was enough to make the Duke’s skin crawl.

He jumped up, instinctively wanting to call Hasting, but stopped himself, glancing at the large grandfather clock in the corner.

“Being your knight must be quite tiring. I’ve never seen Shivers rest,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper once said to him.

At the time, Dwight had scoffed at the idea.

The Dwight family didn’t find pleasure or satisfaction in mistreating those of lower status. Brandenburg was famous for its generosity toward its servants.

Shivers naturally rested when he rested. What was there to question?

Unless there was an emergency…

At this thought, Dwight suddenly grasped the real meaning behind the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s words.

Shivers was always there when needed, and he believed Hasting and the other Brandenburg Knights could do the same.

But how could they manage that if not by being ever vigilant and always on call?

Dwight glared at the grandfather clock for a moment, then picked up the glass bottle with two fingers and quickly went to the small ensuite to pour out the water.

But that alone wasn’t enough.

Seeing that the dried bat wasn’t going to rehydrate, but trusting his intuition, he wasn’t yet ready to throw it away as useless. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the low table in front of the sofa.

It was where the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had sat, leaving in a hurry, forgetting the items he had brought in—several bottles of various types of alcohol and some jerky.

In terms of alcoholic beverages, the customs on the Doran continent were similar to those in Pennigra. The middle and upper classes favored various wines, while ale and other fruit wines were more popular among the lower classes. Charlie had brought both types, and Dwight, after a brief search, also found a small bottle of distilled liquor.

Among several ceramic jars, the glass bottle of distilled liquor was particularly conspicuous; its contents were remarkably clear, indicating its high value.

This was originally a technique for refining floral waters by elves, later expanded into the fields of pharmacology and brewing by spice traders.

Due to the technological threshold, it was expensive and usually sold in small units. Even near the capital, it would be hard to find such fine goods in a place like Ropappas.

That guy took advantage of him whenever he could, so he was generous with his own drinking, but it looked like he hadn’t had enough in the city and had brought some back to mix his own drinks.

Dwight studied it for a moment, popped the cap with one hand, and unhesitatingly poured the entire small bottle of high-proof liquor into the glass bottle.

At least it wouldn’t rot now.

Having dealt with the dried bat, Dwight thought for a moment, then turned his attention back to the bottles of liquor quietly sitting on the low table.

“I apologize. I’ll reimburse you for those bottles of liquor,” Hasting said sternly to Charlie.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper waved it off, a pained look on his face. “It’s alright. It’s just a few bottles of liquor. They’re not worth much.”

Most of what he had brought back were just some bottles of ale he picked up casually, but one of the bottles was a high-concentration Akavitae liquor he had won playing cards at a tavern before sunset—a truly high-end item he hadn’t even had a chance to taste. Who would have thought the young Duke with an elf-like face would drink it all so swiftly!

Speaking of which, that guy really could drink.

He glanced at the Duke, who seemed untroubled by last night’s binge, showing no signs of exhaustion other than a slight lack of sleep—it was completely unnoticeable that he had downed a week’s worth of liquor in one go the night before.

Especially that bottle of Akavitae liquor, which under normal circumstances no one would drink in one sitting, usually mixed with lighter drinks for this purpose, he had even specially bought some mild-tasting fig wine and matching farmhouse cheese.

Now it was all gone.

Hasting didn’t understand his fuss. “It’s not about the value. You’ve compensated for our oversight, and you can take this as our thanks.”

Not noticing that the Duke was too distressed to sleep and needed liquor in the middle of the night to aid his rest was indeed their negligence, and Hasting was already considering preparing some easy-to-drink white wine in the room in addition to the mint candies—of course, not too much. He couldn’t let the Duke develop a dependency on alcohol.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked, finding it a bit funny—this sentence surely came from Hall’s mouth, and hearing it so rigidly recited by Hasting almost made him laugh.

But he held back. A moment’s carelessness the previous night had already made the knight wary of him. It was best not to cause further trouble.

However, at breakfast, he still found an excuse to remind the Duke. “There was one bottle of Akavitae with a very high proof. Should I ask the kitchen to bring some raw tomatoes?”

Although Dwight seemed alright, Charlie was well aware of the strong willpower nobles maintained to uphold appearances. Akavitae was a strong liquor. If consumed too much at once, it could cause a burning sensation in the throat and stomach, and raw tomatoes and milk could alleviate these symptoms.

The Duke looked up at him. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s concerned expression was impeccable.

He lazily said, “I didn’t drink that bottle.”

Besides that bottle of distilled liquor, he had opened and tasted the others, but indulging wasn’t his style.

Charlie was relieved at this response, quickly masking his gaze.

It seemed that the liquor was indeed expensive.

The Duke put down his fork and turned to Hasting. “Bring that bottle of Akavitae here.”

Hasting complied.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t expect he would regain his card game prize (though he didn’t show it). He happily pulled over a plate of sliced ham.

Halfway through eating, Hasting returned with a strange look on his face.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper eagerly looked up, but the young knight didn’t come to him. Instead, he leaned in to whisper a few words to the Duke.

Dwight paused, side-glancing at the object in Hasting’s hand, his eyes narrowing.

Charlie stopped pretending, putting down his fork. “What’s wrong?”

Dwight glanced at him, signaling for Hasting to place the item on the table.

The modestly shaped glass bottle had no decorative carvings and was half-filled with a clear liquid. Sunlight streaming in from the large window illuminated the object soaked inside for all to see.

Charlie was startled. “Isn’t that the dried bat you bought at the March Rabbit Market?”

Upon hearing the term “March Rabbit”, Hasting, stirred by unpleasant memories, quietly stepped back.

“Using liquor for soaking… It’s not a bad idea,” Charlie said, taking the glass bottle and examining it closely in the light. “The purity of Akavitae isn’t low. It has some antibacterial properties, but it’s best if the alcohol completely covers it.”

Dwight said, “I did indeed fill the bottle with liquor last night.”

Charlie immediately looked up at him.

The Duke, expressionless, affirmed, “I wasn’t drunk. I remember correctly. It’s definitely true.”

“What’s going on here then?” Shiloh almost leaned half his body over the table to look. “Before, when it was soaked in water, there was no reaction at all, right? Does it absorb when switched to liquor?”

“It does look a bit swollen.” The Duke observed the bottle closely.

The dried bat inside had visibly plumped up a bit, lacking the previously dry and brittle touch.

Following that, Hasting topped off the bottle with the rest of the liquor, and they decided to place the bottle in a large drawer by the wall to observe it for a few more hours.

To ensure there was enough liquor, Dwight had Eugene go and buy all the Akavitae he could find in the market.

It was broad daylight, and no tavern would be open at this hour, and such high-end liquor wouldn’t be widely available on the common market. This sort of task was indeed something only Eugene could handle.

It turned out that alcohol did have an effect on the strange, dried bat, and the higher the purity, the more effective it was (Eugene managed to buy the liquor the same day, and smartly purchased a few different types as well).

After soaking for a day and a night, the dried bat—or rather, it could no longer be called that—had absorbed the liquor and gradually swelled and plumped up. The parts that could be recognized were noticeably different from a bat: it had a much longer neck, two hind limbs, and a hooked tail, all previously curled up and wrapped by bat-like membranous wings.

Its absorption of the liquor was almost desperate. A full bottle of Akavitae could be completely absorbed within five to six hours, so Shiloh had to transfer it from the bottle to a large cast iron basin.

“What… is this thing?” Eugene muttered.

Now that it had fully stretched out, even he could tell this wasn’t a normal bat—ordinary bats couldn’t be rehydrated with liquor.

Dwight studied the basin intently, ignoring him.

It was now late, but nearly everyone was still gathered in the living room.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said in a low voice, “We can’t be sure yet, but it might be a very, very rare creature.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Shiloh commented, nudging Hasting, who shook his head, indicating he hadn’t either.

“This is a type of draconic creature called a Pluto Owl, commonly known as a “wyvern”, Charlie explained. “These creatures are incredibly fast flyers, difficult to catch, and difficult to reproduce. There have been no updates in human records about them for at least fifty years.”

Hasting asked, “Is it the kind of thing that would be carved on a carriage?”

Charlie nodded. “Because the Pluto Owl is so fast, humans like to use its image on transportation decorations as a blessing, but because they are so hard to capture and due to artistic rendition, the popular images differ somewhat from its true appearance.”

Hearing this, Shiloh raised a key question. “So, can it live like this if we keep it soaked?”

Such a rare creature, of course, would be more valuable alive than as a specimen.

Dwight’s gaze finally shifted from the basin to those gathered around.

“There are no records of Pluto Owls being tamed by humans. No one knows what they eat or even their lifespan,” he said. “Recorded adult specimens include a wingspan of 5-8 meters. This one must still be in its juvenile phase. Its limbs are already beginning to regain elasticity.”

Since leaving Ropappas, Charlie hadn’t seen Dwight this invigorated, prompting him to smile as well. “Indeed, that’s possible. You’re quite lucky.”

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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 74

It was as if they had agreed to bring bad news together. Erica also didn’t bring any good news.

Before the return journey, Dwight had resolved to arrange a private meeting with Priscilla, and Erica had hurried back to Syriacochi specifically to personally arrange this matter.

But it was a step too late. By the time Erica arrived in Syriacochi, Count Lestrop had already left the capital.

The suspicion of murder against Queen Christine hadn’t yet been cleared, and the palace, where the murder had occurred, was not a suitable venue for grandly celebrating the King’s birthday. The annual celebration was hastily concluded, and it seemed reasonable for the nobles, ostensibly unrelated to this incident, to leave the capital one after another.

Interestingly, not many people left the capital at this time.

Since it was already spring, the social season in Mokwen was about to begin. Until the unbearable heat of midsummer arrived, the nobility would usually gather in several major cities within the country, passing this pleasant time with various balls, dinners, competitions, and concerts.

The excuse of the Earl’s manor was that the “Countess was unwell” and they needed to return to the south.

However, according to Erica’s investigation, the fact that the Countess was pregnant wasn’t deliberately concealed within the manor, but the official use of such an ambiguous explanation was very intriguing.

However, Erica took timely measures—thanks to the nobility’s borderless penchant for fussiness, traveling in full regalia (including the ladies) meant their travel speed was hardly faster than walking.

By the time Erica’s convoy reached Syriacochi, Lestrop and his party had already left the city three days earlier, but in reality, they had only traveled half a day’s journey by fast horse, which made it easy for Erica to catch up. After waiting two days for the right moment, she finally managed to get a message through to Priscilla.

Although it was unknown what Priscilla felt when she learned that her brother hadn’t returned to Pennigra, her reply was very brief, just two words.

White Bridge.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stared at the piece of paper the size of a fingertip that Erica had brought back completely intact, with only these words written in elegant handwriting.

Is this a case of fearing what might come?

He wasn’t surprised that Priscilla would go to White Bridge. Honestly, at this point, it was normal for anyone to go to White Bridge. Even a penniless beggar could find something of value there to use as a bargaining chip and try their luck at achieving all they could desire, let alone a noble with wealth.

He had no doubt that if there had never been an opportunity, the Duke wouldn’t mind a sibling reunion at White Bridge.

The problem was that he didn’t want to go at all.

White Bridge was a place of mixed fortunes with too many variables. Attending an auction at White Bridge was completely different from walking on the edge of the Doran continent.

Decisively, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper neatly folded Erica’s letter and pushed it back across to Dwight.

He said, “It’s getting late. Good night.”

Hasting looked at him suspiciously. This series of actions was too obviously feigned, and he didn’t look at all like a man who hadn’t sobered up from his drink.

If Charlie knew what Hasting was thinking, he would have countered: seeing that word, even if he had drunk two large barrels of strong liquor, he would have bristled and scrambled away, far and wide.

This was almost a conditioned reflex.

Dwight didn’t heed his words. It was already past midnight, and he didn’t want to waste time on pointless haggling, especially since he hadn’t yet figured out exactly what to do.

No one had said they were going yet but look at the way he had pricked up his ears.

Dwight’s initial plan was to have a secret meeting with Priscilla in the capital to clear up how much she understood about her situation so he could plan his next steps.

But now that she had already left the city, unless he could stake out their next planned stop in advance, it was nearly impossible to have a talk on the road.

It wasn’t that the Earl’s convoy was particularly well-guarded. After all, this was still within the capital’s sphere of influence, where security was relatively good.

Mainly, on the road, noblewomen typically didn’t leave the carriage, and even when they stopped to rest occasionally, they didn’t leave the sight of others. Even Dr. Salman would have a hard time getting through the many servants to talk face-to-face with Priscilla.

Charlie didn’t want to interrupt Dwight’s thoughts. He only wanted to escape this dangerous area, taking advantage of the other’s distraction to quickly stand up and leave.

Dwight didn’t stop him, but Charlie took an extra look at a package that had come with the letter before leaving.

The package was still unopened, wrapped in two layers of waterproof parchment, square and upright, looking like a hardcover book.

Without asking, he could guess what it was—likely the catalog for this year’s White Bridge auction.

Erica’s thoroughness was evident. This catalog was delivered to Dwight along with Priscilla’s reply.

This wasn’t the custom catalog sent annually by the Wolf family to the nobles of various continents, but a standard edition sold to the public. It was probably something Erica had bought on the spot.

The auction catalog was also one of the Wolf family’s special products. Each year, they prepared special auction manuals for potential customers to lock in their targets in advance.

Custom catalogs were only sent to well-known and wealthy individuals on each continent, each with a unique binding, while the standard catalogs were sold to everyone. Whether or not one was on the Wolfs’ client list, one had to pay a hefty price to get one.

Because of the auction’s large scale, variety, and rarity of items, the auction catalog was also nicknamed the Dictionary of Rarities. Collectors considered the catalog itself a valuable item worth purchasing and collecting—honestly, just the catalog itself was quite expensive.

Charlie had even heard that some auction items included the Wolf family’s auction catalogs, with prices determined by the year and content, while the materials and craftsmanship used to make the catalog were of no concern.

Erica had thought everything through, preparing for Dwight’s possible interest in also going to White Bridge, getting this year’s catalog in hand for her master.

Putting aside the White Bridge for a moment, Charlie, who had a hoarding habit, was actually quite interested in that catalog.

They were real masters of amassing wealth. Compared to the auction, their pervasive money-making methods were more of a hallmark of this family.

But now wasn’t the time to discuss this…

As the rabbit-headed shopkeeper calculated his options and quickly walked past the sofa to leave, forgetting the fine wines he had brought, he wasn’t keen to hear more about White Bridge from the Duke.

Perhaps too deep in thought, he was startled by a figure almost leaning against the door as he stepped out.

“Whoa!” His second scare of the night.

The figure stepped back to make room for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper to pass.

“Oh, it’s you,” Charlie said vaguely, thinking here was another Brandenburg Knight standing silently in the dark.

Obviously, after Hasting entered, another knight had taken his place, waiting for the Duke to finish his business.

If it were daytime, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could easily call out this knight’s name, but the alcohol in his system hadn’t completely metabolized yet, and it took him a little time to accurately recall this knight, who didn’t often appear beside the Duke.

“Hall.” He tipped his hat and closed the door behind him with a reverse swing.

The knight named Hall had gentle, smiling eyes, dark brown short hair, and a calm demeanor that seemed older than his years, making him appear very reliable.

“Mr. Charlie,” Hall greeted with a smile, deepening his impression of the man with the rabbit head.

Unlike typical nobility, their master, Duke Dwight, disliked being surrounded by attendants wherever he went. Unless necessary, he (ostensibly) usually had no more than one knight accompanying him, and old-fashioned family habits like needing two maids just to smoke a cigarette were never seen with him.

Thus, apart from Knight Commander Shivers, other Brandenburg Knights rarely appeared continuously at the Duke’s side. Similarly, this time, aside from Hasting temporarily taking over the commander’s duties and the errand-running Shiloh, he and the other knights seldom interacted with the group.

Having briefly met at the initial gathering and after so many days, he still accurately called out his own name.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was unusually slow to react tonight, and since Hall didn’t show his thoughts on his face, he merely patted the other’s arm genuinely and said, “Thank you for your hard work,” before walking away.

Unexpectedly, he had only taken a few steps when Hall stopped him.

The young knight stepped forward, looking into the eyes of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper under the wall light.

“Are you drunk, sir?” he asked quietly, with concern. “The kitchen stove is kept lit all night. I can have a maid prepare some hot soup for you. It might make sleeping more comfortable.”

Charlie stood still, replying after a second, “Thank you. I only had a little. It wasn’t very good, but…”

He suddenly faltered, unable to remember what he was going to say next.

After leaving the Duke’s room, his mind started to blur again.

“It’s already one,” Hall said. “You’ve been out since seven after dinner. I’m afraid you’ve had more than just a little to drink.”

He insisted on ringing for a manservant, asking him to escort the rabbit-headed shopkeeper to his room and bring up some hot soup.

“I cannot leave my post,” he said, slightly apologetic. “Please watch your step.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper found it hard to refuse such thoughtful gestures, especially since they were well arranged—waiting until the night manservant came over before heading upstairs to his room.

As he turned to go up the stairs, as if by some unspoken agreement, the relaxed, familiar expressions on both Charlie and Hall’s faces disappeared.

The manservant, tending to the candlestick and watching his step, didn’t notice the expression on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s face—after all, who studies the expression on a rabbit head late at night?

But that was exactly what a knight of Duke Dwight would do.

Charlie returned to his room, obediently changed into his pajamas, and lay in the dark with his eyes open, recalling the brief conversation only after the manservant had left.

Such negligence, he thought.

If he had been a bit more alert after leaving, his first reaction wouldn’t have been to… covertly observe the Duke’s knights.

And this Hall was quite different from Hasting.

Although Hasting always wore a stern face, it was easy to discern his thoughts. Hall, on the other hand, probably did the opposite. He was accustomed to using a polite and impeccable demeanor to hide his real thoughts. The moment his name was called, alarms probably went off in his mind—but one wouldn’t know it from looking at his face.

Charlie rubbed his furry face with a hand, sighing deeply.

He had indeed gone out to drink tonight. For an adult man to head out alone at night and find a small tavern for a game of cards was normal.

The smell of alcohol was real, but the process was fake.

In reality, he had found a secluded corner, cloaked himself, and drank alone all night, waiting to turn back into a rabbit-headed man.

If the Duke knew he called the process of changing from human to rabbit “recovery”, he would surely think there was something wrong with his head.

Charlie burrowed entirely under the covers.

Elena’s imperfect curse had cycles, and after the sun truly set, the curse would occasionally malfunction briefly.

If he were in Maplewood, he wouldn’t be as jumpy as tonight, almost wishing to run up the mountain like a werewolf to wait out the transformation, but this was Doran.

On this continent, this face wasn’t unique.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 73

The reports from Shivers and Erica arrived almost simultaneously.

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

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

Until someone came into the corridor—

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

Hasting watched him quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasting shook his head.

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

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

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

Charlie: “???”

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

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

Hasting hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asked coldly.

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

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

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

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

Hasting cursed inwardly without showing any emotion on his face.

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

But why was his judgment correct?

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

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

The young knight was a bit shaken.

The next second, something even more shaking happened.

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

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

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

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

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

But please, he had left Lemena several months ago.

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

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

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

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

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

So young, yet so staid.

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

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

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

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

But it just had to be now.

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

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

The Duke couldn’t help but feel a headache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Greetings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 72

Yitzfa was undoubtedly a handsome young man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which kingdom’s capital would have idle noblewomen?

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

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

What was here to interest a Fox?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yitzfa looked at her, then at Mr. Peter.

“I feel much better,” he said quietly.

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

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

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

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

But there were other ways to manage the situation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 71

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

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

It was getting a bit late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike some shameless individuals who swindled women’s wealth.

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

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

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

“Green?” Mrs. Doug interjected, puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should go downstairs,” she declared.

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

Moreover…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Kinky Thoughts:

I kind of ship Shivers and Yitzfa…

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