Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 70

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasting: “……”

That meant he wanted to buy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dwight hesitated for a moment.

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

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

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

Hasting exchanged a surprised look with Charlie.

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

Dwight glanced at him, somewhat surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked and had to compromise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie turned to look at Hasting.

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

Dwight hummed softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Hasting was surprised by this.

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

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

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

Hasting, being straightforward, voiced his inner question directly.

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 69

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

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

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

The Duke stared at something in his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 68

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dwight didn’t care what his employees thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper found this quite interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too funny.

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

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

“Then take two mercenaries.”

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

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 67

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

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

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

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

But the former Duke Dwight was long gone.

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

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Human behavioral patterns had never changed.

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

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

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

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

That disturbing, heart-racing nightmare.

You’re a rabbit, Charlie.

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

He thought this as he reached out his hand.

Dwight lowered his head to see him take his hand.

“It’s not as bad as all that.”

He heard the rabbit-headed shopkeeper say.

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

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

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

Dwight immediately understood his meaning.

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

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

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

Not some key to wielding power.

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

The Duke pursed his lips.

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

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

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

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

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “?”

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

Charlie’s brows twitched.

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

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

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

Dwight’s thoughts raced.

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

But his available resources were thin.

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

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

But that opportunity had now passed.

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

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

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

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

Shivers and Rabbit Head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 66

“Keep quiet.” A small hand tightly covered his mouth, and from his angle, all he could see was the other’s slightly chubby round cheeks and long, curled eyelashes—those lashes were trembling slightly, betraying the owner’s hidden nervousness and fear.

He dared not speak, so he reached out too, covering the other’s eyes. Don’t look.

He thought to himself, If you can’t see, you won’t be afraid.

The two children huddled close together, breathing so softly that the silence around them almost amplified the pounding of their hearts.

Besides this, they also heard their usually very strict teacher speaking in an unusually humble tone, offering compliments, but most of the time, this was met with silence. Occasionally, a deep, slightly muffled voice would respond in a northern language that they had just started learning.

They needed to learn many languages, but the language they heard today was particularly important… Why was it important?

Ah, he remembered.

The child curled up in the cramped space and recalled the day they had first received the textbook for that language. Someone had warned them in a strange tone that they must master this language well.

Why?

His sibling lifted their face to ask.

Because they were so small, they both had to sit on cushions to reach the desk.

Because, that’s the language of lions.

That person had said softly. Lions are the fiercest, most brutal animals. They mercilessly tear apart all prey that appears before them, break necks, rip out hearts… Ah, don’t cry. I’m just joking.

But you really must study seriously, because in their eyes, anyone not of their kind is prey, without any exceptions.

The young him couldn’t remember the first word they learned in that class, but every word the teacher had said about the language was etched in his memory.

Why must they study seriously?

Because, you surely wouldn’t want to fail to recognize Death when it stands before you, right?

Thunk. Charlie’s head hit the wooden board, and he blinked open his eyes, somewhat unsure if he was still dreaming or not.

He was surrounded by stacks of crates and some bulging bags at his feet, likely containing some type of hard-skinned vegetable or fruit, judging by the protruding shapes.

He was sitting amid these objects, leaning against a crate about half his height, having dozed off. The jostling of the carriage had caused his head to slip backwards, bumping into the wall.

It was indeed a dream.

He straightened up and took a moment to inspect his limbs.

Still the lean and trim figure of an adult male without a trace of baby fat, completely incongruous with his dream self.

This carriage couldn’t compare to the standard Brandenburg carriages he had ridden in Lemena. Even the light two-person carriages of the Dwight household would be lined with the finest, softest leather, never jarring enough to cause a bump.

But when traveling, even a young Duke couldn’t be too picky. In order to leave Ropappas as quickly as possible, they had left the inn almost as soon as the guards’ knights reached the city outskirts. It was past seven in the evening by then. The sun had already set, and the knights with a small contingent of mercenaries turned around without a break, traveling through the night.

The shopkeeper, who positioned himself as a civilian member of the group, had no intention of marching with everyone and shamelessly squeezed into the luggage carriage to sleep.

Perhaps influenced by his last conversation with the Knight Commander before departure, he unusually dreamed about things long past, so distant he wasn’t sure whether they had really happened or were merely fictitious memories he conjured up.

But the part about the lion was probably true.

Charlie leaned against the carriage wall, nudging the window open slightly.

It was still dark outside, and there were points of light like giant fireflies—those were the wind lamps commonly used by travelers.

The roads on the outskirts of the city weren’t as smooth as in the city, lacking streetlights, so they weren’t moving very fast. The mercenaries with them were relaxed, unfazed by the prospect of staying up for a day or two as long as they had warming liquor.

Two men were close to Charlie’s carriage, occasionally speaking in low voices—in the common tongue of Doran.

The content was somewhat dull, discussing either the spoiled cured meat from last night or calculating how long it would take to reach their destination.

Charlie listened for a while, then closed the window again.

Their command of the common tongue was fluent, indicating they were likely mercenaries who lived in the area year-round.

Aside from Miss Priscilla, their true identities hadn’t been discovered by anyone yet, and they only needed to guard against ordinary bandits and robbers. By such safety standards, the mercenaries Erica hired were unlikely to be actual members of the Lion family.

If real Lions were involved, that would be a headache… No, Lions didn’t matter.

As long as it wasn’t a real Lioness in power appearing, there would be no real trouble.

Charlie adjusted his silk top hat.

As a rabbit-headed individual, everyone in Pennigra knew him for his long ears when they thought of 22 Paulownia Street.

But in Doran, it was the opposite. Aside from Elena, no one had really seen him like this, and Elena—

Charlie forced himself to stop the train of thought.

Because whenever he thought of Elena, he couldn’t help but think of Columbus.

Back in Maplewood, Columbus had a premonition about the end of his life. Even if Elena changed her temper and complied with Charlie to lift the curse successfully, Columbus’ life was already near its end.

This adventure back to Doran was less about lifting the little tin soldier’s curse and more about giving him and his family one last chance to reunite, and incidentally… if he could die as a human, that would be for the best.

Now that Columbus had left, he no longer had a reason to look for Elena.

With Elena’s pride as a witch, even if she continued to search for him, she wouldn’t do so overtly or involve others.

So, as long as he didn’t face Elena directly, his presence in Doran wouldn’t be compromised.

The shopkeeper subconsciously touched his chest.

Nobody knew how many tracking-disrupting gadgets were hidden under his meticulous outfit.

Just the anti-tracking pendants he designed himself numbered two. He also wore a brooch that could conceal magical powers, and the top hat that could confuse others’ perceptions was never far from his head.

Even if Elena appeared outside the carriage at that moment, unless she opened the door and they faced each other, she wouldn’t discover him…

Charlie, reassured, leaned back to take another nap when suddenly, the carriage stopped.

Charlie: ???

He opened his eyes, not hearing any noise outside, and was about to reach for the window when the carriage door suddenly burst open from the outside.

Charlie: ?!?!

The blonde Knight Commander, still in the posture of opening the door, looked puzzled at the shopkeeper, who had taken a defensive stance inside the carriage.

Shivers: “What are you doing?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper put down his hand, holding a very small palm crossbow.

“It’s okay.” Charlie cleared his throat and put away the crossbow.

Shivers glanced at his frizzed hair and considerately changed the topic. “Nice item.” But it’s too small, only good for shooting rabbits.

“Yes.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper genuinely accepted the compliment. Despite its small size, the palm crossbow was very powerful, capable of piercing an elephant’s skin, and he had coated the arrow with a paralyzing potion he formulated himself, which could instantly turn a person into an unfeeling stone.

“What happened?” He straightened his clothes before asking.

“His Grace would like you to come and have a look,” Shivers said tactfully.

Now that they were no longer surrounded solely by their own people, the Knight Commander prudently changed his address.

The rabbit-head shopkeeper adjusted his hat and followed him off the vehicle.

Dawn was just breaking, the air laden with the cold mist of morning—it was the coldest time.

Charlie’s leather boots hit the ground, the chill seeping through the soles to his feet.

Shivers, however, appeared as unfazed by the cold as the robust men beside him, making Charlie too embarrassed to shiver alone. He braced himself and walked the short distance before stepping up into the Duke’s carriage with a large stride.

Upon entering, he felt the warm air inside the carriage permeate every pore, so comforting that he wanted to get closer to the heat source—but that wasn’t possible.

The Duke of Brandenburg was half-sitting inside with his indispensable cane by his right hand, and a palm-sized sheepskin-covered notebook by his left. The notebook, open on his lap, continuously emitted heat.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper consciously sat down on another cushion, taking an extra glance at the notebook.

The notebook appeared thin—Charlie suspected it had only four pages, corresponding to the four seasons.

The page currently open was dazzling gold in color, devoid of any writing. Although it didn’t glow, the evident heat made it seem as though a small sun was placed inside the carriage.

What a luxurious magical item.

It was also a book. While that woman used hers to control the space and life within the castle, in the hands of the Duke, it was merely a thermostat. Judging by the Duke’s indifferent attitude, it probably wasn’t considered a precious item in Brandenburg.

Although covetous, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper restrained himself from paying too much attention to the rich man’s treasure, coughing lightly and maintaining a composed demeanor.

Dwight, as if just snapping out of a trance, gestured for Shivers to close the door after getting off, then, without speaking, pulled out a drawer from the partition, inside which was something familiar to Charlie.

The elf’s box, containing Priscilla’s rose.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper opened the box. The rose, already slowly withering, seemed to have rapidly lost life within just a few days, not only shedding several petals but also showing ominous brown edges on the remaining petals on the stem.

No wonder he was hurriedly called over.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper put the box back in the drawer and fell silent for a moment.

“Although I can offer advice and help, I’m not omnipotent,” he said softly. “What do you hope to gain from me this time?”

In fact, Dwight’s first request regarding the rose had already been fulfilled by him—meeting with the astrologer and revealing the omen behind it.

And this time?

At those words, Dwight glanced at him, his shallow, glass-like pupils reflecting the image of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

It was the first time Charlie saw an almost bewildered look on his face.

“I don’t know.”

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