Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 65

“Even if Miss Priscilla is indeed pregnant, it doesn’t prove that she was involved in that experiment,” Charlie said, not having read the letter, but he could tell from the Duke’s expression that their unpleasant suspicion was likely confirmed.

The Knight Commander glanced at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper sitting in the chair, holding his doubts for the moment, and remained silent.

After reading the letter, Dwight habitually raised his hand to pass the paper to Shivers for destruction, which was the routine.

But midway, he seemed to think of something, his wrist turning abruptly to hand the letter to Charlie instead—as if he was making a special effort to hand it over personally. The Duke pursed his lips. It wasn’t intentional, but retracting his hand now would undoubtedly be even more improper.

Fortunately, during this time, the shopkeeper had developed a certain rapport with him and didn’t let the Duke’s hand hover in the air for too long, taking the letter and reading it quickly.

They had anticipated Priscilla’s part, but Dr. Salman’s experience was very informative.

Erica’s description in the letter was quite detailed, so Charlie could deduce a lot from it.

“The ‘Holy Grail’ project started ten years ago—or maybe even earlier. Mistress Daisy’s predecessor was very likely the initiator, or one of them.”

They believed the Holy Grail was to be birthed by a human female but didn’t know what specific conditions needed to be met; hence, they conducted many different experiments, all of which failed.

“Mistress Daisy never mentioned the presence of the Lamp Bearers, indicating that the experiments at that time weren’t as advanced as they are now at Thorn Manor,” Charlie handed the letter back to Shivers as he said thoughtfully.

“Blue blood. Is that unique to the ‘Holy Grail’?” The Duke’s fingers tapped unconsciously on the smooth wooden armrest. “I’ve never read in any texts about a creature with blue blood. Mermaids have pink blood, elves have green, angels have golden… even the abyssal creatures from centuries ago are described as ‘beings without blood and soul’.”

“The letter mentions that the newborn’s blood turned red within an hour,” Charlie reminded him. “Perhaps this suggests that the blue blood was abnormal.”

“So their experiment failed,” the Duke stated unequivocally. “But perhaps the blue blood is a condition to summon, no, to attract the Lamp Bearers. I don’t think the Lamp Bearers have self-awareness or souls. They are more likely entirely derivative beings of the Holy Grail, a tangible product of the mission like ‘seeking the Holy Grail’. Strictly speaking, they have no master… How could such beings respond to human summons?”

No, they have a master.

The shopkeeper didn’t voice this thought.

The situation had completely exceeded his expectations, and he harbored doubts about it.

He could foresee that if one day the Duke unearthed all the secrets, he would certainly be furious over his omissions… but on the positive side, the best outcome would merely be burying the secrets again for a few hundred more years, decaying completely underground.

But could he manage that?

Though he didn’t know where the woman in the castle’s study got her ideas, the seed of desire was undoubtedly sown, and her death couldn’t wither those sinister weeds. The many innocent women they had seen die after entering Doran were proof of this.

Farmers worrying about a half measure of wheat didn’t have the capacity to dream of ruling the world. Only those with some power or wealth could see through the vanity behind the Holy Grail. They might be enemies of each other, but their common goal was the same.

In the face of such a massive conglomerate of power, anyone was insignificant.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper suddenly felt an unprecedented exhaustion.

He took a deep breath, feeling like he didn’t even have the strength to maintain his composure anymore.

Dwight glanced at him.

Crossing continents without regard for himself and the witch’s disputes for the sake of the little tin soldier, no one would doubt the depth of their friendship.

But precisely because of the deep emotions, his calm demeanor so far worried everyone (especially Eugene and Shivers) all the more.

Even the little tin soldier was the same. Before this, they often had conversations like “if I get thrown into the witch’s furnace” or “Elena might make me into potion ingredients. I don’t like the smell of disintegration potions”. Most would take these as their heartless jokes. Only Dwight always felt slightly uncomfortable when he heard them—but couldn’t quite say why.

And the pampered Duke of Brandenburg wasn’t used to this kind of silently disturbing discomfort, so he would react even more harshly, making everyone uncomfortable.

Only after Columbus truly left did he vaguely understand why.

Perhaps… each time they discussed their own deaths, they weren’t joking.

They were seriously discussing, seriously preparing themselves mentally, seriously saying goodbye to each other.

And the Duke’s displeasure, perhaps, was because he recognized this every time.

“I have a question.” Charlie blinked. “Is one of the selection criteria for the Brandenburg Knight Order that they must be popular with women?”

His gaze fell on Shiloh in the courtyard below. The red-haired young man stood there, blankly holding a basket filled with stacks of bread slices, cookies, and jars of jam, while the girls around him kept stuffing more things into the basket.

Eugene was also there, similarly holding a large piece of smoked fish and wrapped farmhouse cheese.

Compared to Shiloh, he was much more uncomfortable, partly because he was unaccustomed to this rare scene of being surrounded by women, and partly because they had just finished sword practice, and he was sweaty.

Before, he wouldn’t have thought this was a problem—his personal record was going an entire winter without bathing, and the boys who huddled with him in the straw of the stables were the same, even picking lice off each other.

But since being brought into the Duke’s system, any slight hygiene issue was magnified countless times in the boss’ eyes. If he dared appear in his current sweaty state, the Duke wouldn’t even need to speak. Just his look would make him feel like a walking stinking fish.

Used to strict requirements, Eugene had already developed an awareness that his body odor might offend the refined ladies (and gentlemen), feeling somewhat uneasy about wanting to distance himself from the crowd, and this subtle reaction instead earned him more smoked sausages.

Overall, though, Shiloh was more popular. A significant portion of the inn’s female staff were married women, and in their eyes, there was nothing cuter than a red-haired, round-faced, and polite young man.

Knowing that these generous guests were planning to leave, a few bold women took the initiative to send them some gifts, not as fine as the perfume and white bread prepared by the inn, but Shilo never refused food.

The Knight Commander also watched the scene. “That’s not it. Shiloh is still a child. I’ve forbidden him from dating until he’s an adult.”

The shopkeeper unexpectedly turned to look at him.

Shivers, seemingly aware of the other’s confusion, explained, “Normally, the Brandenburg Knight Order doesn’t admit minors, but Shiloh is an exception. His talent is exceptional, the likes of which haven’t been seen in the reserves in over twenty years. The unstoppable force of a heavy swordsman on the battlefield is earned through innate talent and rigorous practice. For him, enhancing his skills during his prime is the right thing to do, and even if I hadn’t imposed a ban, he would understand this himself.”

Charlie nodded.

On any continent, population was the basic unit, and even the most inept rulers wouldn’t place many restrictions on this.

Therefore, except in some countries or cities with strong religious influences, most young people had a rather liberal understanding of love. Of course, there was nothing wrong with this, but if one wished to achieve something in a professional field during the most hormonally active age, external constraints and self-discipline were essential.

“So that’s it. Seeing you and Shiloh, I thought maybe having a good-looking face was a necessary condition to join the Brandenburg Knight Order,” the shopkeeper joked.

Shivers: “……”

Selection for knights indeed prioritizes skill, but the Brandenburg Knight Order was a general term, divided into the Duke’s personal guard and the castle troops. As the name implied, the personal guards were Dwight’s bodyguards, and aside from people like Shivers who have been groomed from a young age, members of the personal guard indeed had certain aesthetic requirements because they were closer to the Duke.

However, this rule wasn’t established by Dwight himself, but was a tradition of Brandenburg.

According to a previous Duke, this had nothing to do with personal preferences but was purely for the honor and dignity of the Dwight family—just as a King’s carriage must be drawn by four pure white horses. If one couldn’t even muster a guard of handsome knights, who would believe in the family’s heritage and taste?

So, the preference for good looks at Brandenburg was ancestral.

Seeing the Knight Commander’s expression, Charlie kept this thought to himself.

“It seems I can look forward to meeting the knights who come to greet the Duke,” he said with a laugh.

This was an arrangement made by Dwight himself.

The King of Mokwen’s ambitions regarding the Holy Grail and the confirmation of Priscilla’s pregnancy required more information for further action; thus, staying hidden in Ropappas was no longer a good option—Mistress Daisy’s castle was destroyed, and with Dr. Salman, who had been privy to the secrets of Thorn Manor, having fled, anyone controlling these events wouldn’t ignore them.

Brandenburg had no intention of getting involved in matters related to the Holy Grail, but Priscilla’s connection to the kingdom of Mokwen couldn’t be ignored. Once the Dwight family’s activities in Doran were discovered, things could become significantly more complicated.

Therefore, whether to reconnect with Priscilla or to shift their base, leaving was necessary.

Initially, the old steward consented to the Duke and the Knight Commander entering Doran alone not only because they planned to recruit Eugene and Charlie, but more importantly, the steward had his daughter lead members of the personal guard into Doran in secret to protect the Dwight family head at any time.

Because of the need for discretion, Erica only brought a few knights, but political chaos had its advantages—money could buy private armed forces.

Upon entering Doran, her first action was to consolidate armed forces. After this period of integration, except for two knights needed to maintain order, the rest, like Shiloh, would gather around the Duke and lead a small group of hired mercenaries with knights as the core.

With proper deployment, their combat power would be sufficient to handle a private lord’s castle defense—this was enough, as they didn’t intend to step into the battlefield of power struggles in Doran.

By that time, their numbers would significantly increase, and the current small travel group setup would no longer be suitable.

“Erica has arranged for housing—not in Syriacochi. Currently, Mokwen’s capital is still under semi-martial law, and a large group cannot enter. In the nearest city to Syriacochi, a fast horse can get there in half a day, and another part of the mercenary troop will be on standby there.”

Mercenaries… The rabbit-headed shopkeeper reached for his pipe but didn’t take it out.

“Eugene probably won’t be happy,” Shivers said calmly, seemingly oblivious to Charlie’s silence. “The last encounter in the alley left him quite shaken. But Erica always seeks to maximize effectiveness, and the Lion family is the best choice.”

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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 64

The two girls specifically tasked with washing bed linens and tablecloths had already made several trips back and forth from the yard, each time sneaking a peek at the men in the hallway.

In Mokwen, a country that prided itself on martial prowess, the mainstream aesthetic for men had always been strong muscles, thick beards, and the scent of tobacco. The poets, merchant caravans, or military groups that passed through were usually either weary from travel or mysteriously elusive, partially concealed. The occasional appearance of a few handsome, clean men stood out starkly, like snowflakes in a coal heap.

A few local male servants, although they acknowledged that the wealthy gentlemen who had booked the inn indeed had a remarkable presence, equally couldn’t understand why the women were so frenzied. They made countless excuses to pass by the spacious hallway, which was off-limits to anyone unpermitted, sneaking peeks inside—simply because several gentlemen practiced swordsmanship there every morning.

Clang.

The blunt sword in Eugene’s hand was knocked out again, flying several meters away—this was already the fourth time this morning.

On this cool early spring morning, he was overheated. His face was flushed as if every pore was exuding steam.

“Wait!” He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to alleviate some of the stomach pain caused by too much exertion.

Initially, he had some complaints about the Knight Commander’s insistence on him shaving his beard and cutting his hair short, believing that most of his masculine charm came from his stubble. However, after several days of rigorous training, he began to think it was a wise decision: intense physical activity always led to profuse sweating, and his hair and beard would become a mess. If he dared to appear before the Duke in such a state, the Duke’s glance would make Eugene feel like an indelible stain on a kitchen fireplace.

Shiloh crouched lightly on a hardback chair, complaining, “Your shoulders are as stiff as a rock! That’s why you keep getting disarmed—”

He maintained a half-crouched stance, pivoting forty-five degrees on his left foot for balance, and made a thrusting motion with one hand.

“I must have said it a hundred times, relax your shoulders, relax your shoulders, relax your shoulders,” Shiloh said seriously. “Your physical fitness is also poor. You’re panting like this just from light sword practice. If you wore knight’s armor, you wouldn’t even be able to lift a wooden sword.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Eugene gasped as he went to pick up his sword.

“Shiloh is right,” Shivers, who was passing by after breakfast, chimed in. “Shiloh is a heavy swordsman. With just a weapon and a horse, he can pierce through a formation of up to thirty infantrymen on his own.”

Eugene turned incredulously to look at Shiloh, who was still perched on the chair.

Shiloh grinned at him.

“Is that why you’re always hungry?” Eugene incredulously sized up Shiloh’s still-growing frame.

Shiloh was quite tall, but with a round face and round eyes, he was neither fat nor particularly muscular. Eugene could hardly even imagine him fully armored—it just didn’t fit.

“I’m still growing.” Shiloh jumped off the chair. “I should be able to wield a sword with one hand once I’m fully grown. Alright, alright, lift your lazy arms. Let’s go again!”

Eugene numbly gave up on thinking.

As a pure-blooded low-born thug, Eugene’s understanding of fighting had always been simple: the bigger and more muscular, the stronger.

However, after being recruited by the Duke, he found that although he might be the heaviest among the group, his combat ability was (sadly) the weakest. In group fights, he was just blunt and clumsy, and even the seemingly fragile and slender rabbit-headed shopkeeper could knock him down.

A disgruntled Eugene, whenever he had a chance, pestered the Knight Commander to teach him swordsmanship. Shivers, maintaining his usual grace, was willing to teach him, but Eugene soon learned that just the stance for swordsmanship frustratingly had over a dozen variations!

He thought Shivers was pulling his leg until the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke both treated it as common knowledge. Therefore, just the stance for holding the sword took him a long time to learn, and the Knight Commander still thought his posture was “not correct or graceful enough”.

When Shiloh saw Eugene letting Shivers teach him swordsmanship, he bristled: Shivers was their Knight Commander, and even proper members of the Brandenburg Knight Order would feel embarrassed to pester him about teaching such basic skills. Shiloh immediately offered to take over the task from Shivers.

Initially, Eugene thought Shiloh was just a kid who probably got his knighthood through his background, and he grumbled, hoping Shivers would continue to teach him. But perhaps Shiloh was taking this opportunity for revenge, scrutinizing his posture while also stepping up the sparring practice, making Eugene howl in pain every morning.

Today, learning that Shiloh was a heavy swordsman, someone who could wield such a cumbersome weapon in full armor (knight armor was as heavy as a joke), surprised him…

They shouldn’t call it the Brandenburg Knight Order, but the Brandenburg Monster Order.

Eugene thought resentfully as he was once again flipped onto the ground by Shiloh.

Shiloh’s timely assistance was perfect, as his master had been somewhat anxious these past few days, which worried Shivers.

Like Erica, he didn’t quite understand why the Duke suddenly cared whether his sister was pregnant, but as the Knight Commander of the Duke’s personal guard, he, like Erica, possessed an extraordinary intuition.

This trait was most pronounced in Duke Dwight, to the point where even the rabbit-headed shopkeeper privately thought his acuity was almost elven.

Whether it was because he himself possessed this special ability and subconsciously gathered like-minded individuals or because they had been gradually trained as part of Dwight’s family reserve forces since childhood, even Shiloh showed similar characteristics, although his thought process was more akin to an animal’s instinctual nature.

The change in the Duke’s attitude was clearly after the private conversation with Charlie, but afterwards, both of them avoided discussing the content of their conversation.

Of course, Shivers couldn’t ask Dwight directly, but even the usually amiable rabbit-headed shopkeeper adopted an evasive stance when Shivers inquired diplomatically. This seemed like a signal, and the frequency of their private discussions increased, giving Shivers a subtle feeling.

He could somewhat understand that sharing various experiences, especially adventures, indeed acted as a catalyst for a sense of camaraderie between people. Not only was this true for the Duke and the shopkeeper, but it was the same for him with Eugene and Columbus, which was why the departure of the little tin soldier made everyone feel very sad.

But on top of that, having secrets in common also brought them closer to each other than to others.

It wasn’t that Shivers had any complaints about Charlie. Although the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a mystery in many ways, his actions and speech were forthright, and intuition told him that Charlie wasn’t a person with ill intentions.

It was just that he and the Duke had been together almost since they were old enough to write, more like brothers than master and servant.

As the Duke’s first confidant, he had always felt that he was the most trusted by the Duke—indeed, this was also the tradition at Brandenburg. No matter how many marriages and loves a Duke went through, no matter how many children and vassals he had, the head of the Brandenburg Knight Order was always the sword in the Duke’s hand, the person closest to his power and secrets.

Shivers could feel that the Duke was curious about and sought to explore more about this mysterious shopkeeper, and interest often served as the gateway to investment.

The Duke’s unusual interest and trust in Charlie were unsettling for Shivers.

This unease wasn’t about fearing the loss of the Duke’s favor, as his loyalty to the Duke was always one-sided, requiring no feedback or reciprocation from the Duke.

His uncertainty was more about Charlie.

Perhaps Charlie wasn’t a bad person, but that didn’t mean he could necessarily be a good object for the Duke’s emotional investment.

The allure caused by a man’s mystery wasn’t only effective on women.

But behind the secrecy, what kind of person was the shopkeeper, really?

Could he offer the Duke an equal emotional return?

Such a man seemed too much of a wanderer. Aside from Columbus causing him a brief moment of instability, Shivers had never seen him truly reveal his emotions.

Charlie was like a wandering merchant, his baggage filled with countless curiosities that tempted one to explore.

As friends met by chance, his secrets and stories were easily refreshing, intriguing one to draw closer, but at the end of everything, would the Duke, Shivers, Eugene, and Shiloh just be one of the many stories he collected on his journey?

Could the Duke, accustomed to being adored by everyone, foresee or accept such an emotional discrepancy?

But no matter what, this wasn’t something he could meddle in…

The Knight Commander pushed open the door of the study, and his heart tangled even more at the sight of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper also inside, sitting across from the Duke.

Dwight looked up at Shivers, and his brow furrowed at the sight of what he held in his hand.

It was a letter from Erica.

Brandenburg didn’t have a dedicated mage, but they had a rich supply of magical items stored as backup—among them a magic stone used for urgent message delivery.

This magical item called a “Compass” could only be crafted by high-level mages. It involved engraving teleportation magic circles on two gems of the exact same purity. When used, the two gems could create a brief symbiotic space, allowing the magic circles to share information instantly when activated.

The principle was simple, akin to physically splitting a single altar into two linked halves, where the point of sacrifice became the endpoint.

This was a basic magical theory but was classified under advanced magic due to its operational difficulty.

The requirement of identical purity gems alone eliminated many mages with insufficient resources, not to mention the risk of damaging the gems during the intricate process of engraving the magic circles. More crucially, this magic was one-time use. The gems were destroyed after use, and there were limits on the volume and weight of the transported items, typically only allowing the exchange of documents up to five pages—making the investment-to-output ratio terrifyingly low.

Therefore, even though most mages could recite this teleportation circle from memory, this communication method remained affordable only to a small portion of the nobility.

Because Shivers and the Duke were inseparable, the arrangement of the magic stones when they left Lemena was that Erica and Shivers each held a part, to be used for covert communication.

Given Erica’s style of doing things, she should have sent a reply within two days of receiving a letter from Shivers, but this time it was delayed by nearly two days, allowing Dwight to guess the contents of Erica’s letter without even opening the envelope.

As the Duke had expected, Erica’s unusually cautious attitude led her to double-check the information reported back by her own spies with a third party—either local informants or the all-knowing Fox family—for further confirmation.

But for some reason, Erica intuitively felt that this matter should not be investigated too openly. It was better to keep it discreet so as not to let anyone notice that someone was interested in the Countess’ condition.

Thus, she took extra time after arriving in Syriacochi to confirm the facts before writing back to Shivers immediately.

Erica’s prudence was advantageous here—without knowing that Dwight and others had passed through Thorn Manor, Dr. Salman’s experiences there were also included in the letter as part of the information.

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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 63

Erica stood on the porch, watching two servants load tobacco leaves, candies, and a local specialty called “white cakes” onto the lead caravan.

White cakes, made with a lot of sugar, apples, and flour, were both sweet and hard but luxurious in ingredients and durable for storage. Many travelers liked to pack some in their luggage, both to stave off hunger and to show off.

Erica, of course, had no intention of showing off, but as part of a formally documented trade caravan, it was routine to purchase local goods at each stop and resell some of their stock.

Although all this was meant to divert attention, the caravan named Fuji managed to make quite a profit from selling local specialties.

But beyond the trade of goods, the caravan named Fuji had a more critical role.

Since entering the continent of Doran, Erica had consciously left contact points in every town they had stayed, which, like threads of a spider’s web, connected inconspicuously across this vast territory, with the web’s center pinned in Syriacochi—this was decided by the old steward, Erica’s father, before the Duke set out.

Lemena had no intention of getting involved in the turbulent affairs of Doran. Their primary task was to ensure the Duke received the maximum support abroad, and his visit focused undeniably on the kingdom of Mokwen.

Lestrop’s domain was some distance from the capital, Syriacochi, and to avoid suspicion, the old steward ultimately decided to place their informants in the capital, a decision that proved very wise.

“You’re well-prepared,” a voice said from behind her. Erica turned to see Dr. Salman wearing a travel-friendly, rolled-up robe and thick boots. His medium-length hair was tied at the nape.

Erica nodded. “It’s always a bit chaotic at the start, but you get used to it after a while.”

A laborer tried to take the carrying case from Salman’s hands to put it on the cart, but he gently declined.

Seeing Erica’s gaze, he smiled a bit sheepishly.

“It’s full of glass vials,” he explained. “Most of the stuff has been sold off. Some leftovers aren’t easy to sell and can be unsafe if used carelessly. I’ve decided to carry them with me, though I’m not sure if I’ll go back to my old job once we get to the next place.”

Erica didn’t smile.

She was almost as tall as Dr. Salman, and the two of them standing side by side on the porch often drew the attention of the passing helpers, particularly the women. In fact, Erica received even more attention, especially when she looked serious, which was more charming. Shiloh’s first love was ruthlessly crushed by her.

Shiloh was sent back to the Duke’s side as a contact after the castle incident, and it was Dr. Salman who stayed to help her with the aftermath. Thus, Erica was well aware that the man before her had talents and capabilities far exceeding what he showed, though whether the experience and capabilities gained through endless loneliness were worth it was debatable.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Erica asked.

Salman looked back at her gently. “My intuition never fails me. As long as I follow the path I want to take, I will always meet my loved one. Thank you for agreeing to give me a lift for part of the way. It greatly shortened the time for my plans.”

Erica nodded and said no more.

Dr. Salman had already been planning to leave Ropappas. The accidental involvement in the castle incident just extended his stay a few days. He seemed to have stirred up a little trouble locally and was now conveniently using the caravan’s cover to leave.

She had originally planned to stay a few more days to completely eliminate the lingering effects of several tycoons and a Baron’s sudden disappearance in the city, but since her efforts were initially focused on finding and compensating the girls’ families, she was stretched too thin. Thus, the city was rife with rumors and discussions.

Just then, an urgent letter from the Duke arrived, and Erica could only dispatch more people to stay in Ropappas while she herself set off immediately for Syriacochi to prepare in advance, hence the small journey she shared with Dr. Salman.

Perhaps it was the shared experience of rescuing Alice and others that quickly closed the distance between Erica and Salman.

Although Salman appeared young, he had already traveled across much of Doran, experiencing countless dangers and stories, which young Erica loved to hear, often inviting him for a drink during caravan breaks.

“I lived in Ropappas for ten years,” Dr. Salman said, leaning back against the cushioned back of the carriage in a relaxed posture. “I usually don’t stay in one place too long—ten or maybe fifteen years is the limit. Because my appearance doesn’t age with time, staying longer than that makes it easy for people to notice something unusual about me, and they might misunderstand me as a vampire or a black mage… Although I’m not, sometimes it’s really hard to explain.”

Erica nodded. “I understand. You could have stayed longer. What made you leave so cautiously? Although my power is limited, please don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it.”

Salman shook his head. Perhaps because the caravan had already left Ropappas, his demeanor had become much more relaxed.

“If a person lives too long, they inevitably accumulate many secrets,” he said softly. “But I know that you and Mr. Charlie come from another continent, and Doran may be more dangerous than you anticipated. If you continue to stay in Mokwen, I think it’s better for you to know about this.”

“I was an apprentice apothecarist in Arato for three years. The old apothecarist treated me like his child and recommended that I learn from a friend of his, an experienced old doctor. Surgeons can easily earn generous compensation and treatment, but I didn’t want to attract the attention of the powerful and thus lose my freedom, so I chose to settle in the marginal city of Ropappas ten years ago. Over the years, I’ve accumulated quite a network and reputation, often receiving invitations from the wealthy and nobility to treat illnesses in their estates or castles.”

As a surgeon, emergency calls were inevitable.

For this, Salman was fully prepared. He had shift porters, a long-term partnership with a carriage (although wealthy people usually took care of transportation), and a medical bag prepared for various situations, even training an apprentice who could handle basic cleaning, bandaging, stitching, and dispensing.

When the door was knocked on that night, he thought it was just another routine call.

Although it was already dark and required leaving the city, because it was the estate of a prestigious gentleman who promised a substantial fee, he didn’t think much of it and followed.

The patient was a young woman, eight months pregnant, with a prominently swollen belly. She was pale faced, having fainted several times, yet continuously being awakened.

Salman immediately knew she must have encountered an accident that endangered the child. Although she was far along, the delay was too long, and the child had a high chance of not surviving.

When he expressed to the master that he could only do his best to save the lady’s life, he unexpectedly encountered vehement opposition. They had actually invited him to induce labor and deliver the child before the mother’s death, no matter what.

This request was very unusual, at least in the kingdom of Mokwen.

Even a farmer in a barn wouldn’t choose the child under such circumstances. Salman was very surprised but wisely didn’t voice any objections—given the patient couldn’t afford delay, and leveraging the fact that he was the only doctor in the room, he still tried his best to save the lady.

But it was like a miracle—the baby that was born didn’t die immediately. The apprentice was forbidden from entering the room, and Salman could only try to save the mother while also looking after the infant. However, he soon discovered many unusual things about the newborn.

“He didn’t cry,” Salman said softly. “It’s common for newborns not to cry right away. We usually stimulate them a bit. I pricked the child’s fingertip with a fine needle, and he cried, but… I noticed his blood was blue.”

He had never seen human blood of that color before.

Salman was very surprised but didn’t show it. Instead, he discreetly cleaned the blood off the needle, and it was fortunate he did so—upon hearing the child’s cry, several people burst into the bedroom, ignoring all obstacles, and took the child away.

Their urgency was unusual. Even before they had fully left the bedroom, Salman heard someone whispering in a hushed voice, “…check the color… It’s here.”

Ten minutes after they left, the room, which had been slightly stuffy due to the burning fireplace, suddenly dropped in temperature strangely. A weird, suffocating atmosphere enveloped the room, and the woman, who was already stabilized, began to shiver uncontrollably. By then, no one was left in the room except for Salman.

The pale-faced young woman, half-conscious and half-delirious, clutched his hand tightly, repeating over and over, “Kill him… Kill him… He must be killed…”

Salman thought she was having a hysterical fit and tried to give her a sedative, but she reacted violently to the medication. As soon as she saw the medicine bottle, she struggled wildly, screaming that she didn’t want it, that it would give birth to a monster.

If at this point Salman didn’t realize he was involved in something serious, then he would have considered all his years of experience wasted.

He calmly sedated her, sparing no expense with valuable medicines to preserve her life—unexpectedly, an hour later, the child was brought back.

But this time, the child wasn’t breathing.

They said the child had died prematurely and asked Salman to give him one last bath before hastily burying him in the garden of the house.

“While washing, I meddled a bit and pricked the child’s fingertip again. His blood had not yet clotted, but this time the blood from the fingertip was red.”

If not for the woman’s delirious ravings while semi-conscious, he might have truly believed his first observation of blue blood was a hallucination.

“I did my best to preserve her life, which was the right decision, and I guess that’s why I managed to save both my apprentice’s life and my own.” Dr. Salman looked down at his wine glass, his voice very low. “I don’t know what she had been through, but the child’s birth must have involved some unnatural intervention, an act considered extremely evil in any doctrine. They wouldn’t want their secret exposed. But I managed to save her life… With the child already deceased, having the mother still alive allowed them to analyze and review the failure. If her condition worsened, they might still need me… I managed to escape smoothly by using the Baron as an excuse.”

They all knew what happened next.

Dr. Salman dismissed everyone associated with him, canceled his house lease, sold his furniture, and if Erica and Charlie had arrived just two hours later, he would have already left the city.

“I myself am hardly a normal human anymore, so I’m quite sensitive to magic and curses. I’m certain that the sudden drop in temperature in the room after the child was taken was due to something peculiar happening. That’s why, when I heard about the many young women confined in the castle, I became alert and asked to join you… Since ancient times, life magic has been taboo. If you encounter traces of such events on your journey, please don’t investigate or touch them, and leave as soon as possible.” Salman looked at the serious-faced Erica and spoke earnestly.

The early spring fields were turning green, making the roads much more passable than in the cold winter. The caravan didn’t need to seek shelter from snow or wind, and their progress was swift.

Erica sat in her carriage, holding a glass pen, lost in thought.

As she had traveled, the bird communication network typically used by Brandenburg was beginning to take shape in Doran, though it still lacked a bit of responsiveness.

Fortunately, intricately designed magical items could compensate for this deficiency, though costly and limited in use, typically reserved for emergencies. But now…

Erica dipped her pen in ink and began to write the first word on the letter.

Dear Green, 

I’m writing this response to you from the carriage on my way to Syriacochi.

The personnel stationed in the capital are reliable. They reported back to me immediately.

While this matter requires further verification by me, I think it necessary to discuss the clues we have so far, so you can make a preliminary judgment.

The cook at the Earl’s residence buys food every two days. She often talks to the apothecarist’s wife due to her back pain. On February 12^th, she complained about having to discard a large amount of fresh celery because it nauseated the Lady of the House, even though preparing celery along with chrysanthemums and oats was usual. The change in her Mistress’ taste caught her off guard.

The Earl’s physician completed a prescription at Akarla Apothecary: oatmeal, distilled water, rose petals, and a mixture of three types of animal bones, a formula typically used in eastern Doran to treat headaches in pregnant women.

…

As the carriage rolled over a sharp little stone buried in the dirt, it jolted the compartment. The tip of Erica’s pen trembled, causing a drop of ink to fall onto the letterhead, leaving a rust-colored ink stain.

Erica set down her pen, staring off into space for a while, then crumpled the letter into a tight ball in her hand.

Seconds later, the crumpled paper ball burst into a small flame from within and quietly burned out.

Apart from a past relationship with the Queen that had become taboo, Count Lestrop’s personal life and that of his brother had little in common, aside from one or two socialites rumored to have liaisons across the country. In fact, there was little to dig into about his romantic escapades. His focus seemed more on border conflicts and several disputed mineral veins, more similar in character to the old King in this respect.

For this reason, it was unlikely that another woman in the Earl’s estate, experiencing a significant change in taste and pregnancy headaches at this time, existed.

Erica didn’t know why the Duke was suddenly concerned about this—logically, it would be good news for both Miss Priscilla and her husband if they had a child after several years of marriage.

But perhaps Dr. Salman’s recounted experiences had made her overly nervous. She revised the letter several times and had yet to finish it.

Her intuition told her something wasn’t quite right.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 62

As the sun rose higher and the direct sunlight on the skin began to heat up, the balcony became less comfortable. The Duke squinted at the light spots jumping among the branches and, after a moment of silence, planned to return to his room.

However, Charlie stopped him.

Dwight turned around and, surprisingly, saw a peculiar, conflicted expression on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s face, which was rare.

He always thought of the other as a quite reserved person, rarely showing his emotions openly, which was one of the reasons Dwight often provoked him. Despite being a cold and boundary-conscious individual, he pretended to be outgoing and approachable, which easily gave others the illusion of a growing closeness, an illusion the Duke detested.

As for what he was conflicted about, Dwight could somewhat guess.

The shopkeeper flicked his fingers, spinning the slender pipe between them as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t adept at initiating conversations that were bound to be unpleasant.

“What did that woman in the study tell you?” The Duke, uncharacteristically understanding, gave him an opening.

Charlie put away the long pipe, leaning tiredly against the balcony railing. “Do you remember the ‘Lamp Bearers’ we encountered?”

Dwight’s expression immediately became more focused, sensing that what Charlie was about to say was important—for both him and Charlie.

“I might understand why the ‘Lamp Bearers’, who should have vanished, appeared at that manor.” Out of consideration for Charlie’s emotions, aside from the Duke, no one else had followed upstairs, yet Charlie still instinctively lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Someone is enticing them to appear in this world.”

“Oh, are you now willing to tell me what they are looking for?” The Duke had always kept this matter close to his heart, but it was information not even the higher-ups at the Fox dared to trade, and if Charlie was unwilling, probably no force in the world could compel him to speak.

But when the other was truly ready to open up, he restrained his urgency just in time, maintaining his usual nonchalant demeanor, even keeping his tone measured.

Charlie paused briefly.

This was a secret worth taking to the grave, but thanks to the woman embedded in the wall, it seemed to have become shared information touched by many in Doran, and the King of Mokwen’s peculiar actions had thus become clearer.

As Miss Priscilla was a royal family member, unless Dwight suddenly decided to abandon all actions and return home, he would eventually uncover this secret with his capabilities, but by then, it would be passive.

He sighed deeply in his mind.

“They are not looking for something. Actually, it’s the opposite. Humans have always been searching for them. Even from their names, key clues can be derived. The doctrine’s interpretation of them is wrong, but the outcome is correct.”

“I don’t understand.” The Duke frowned.

“They are ugly yet carry exquisite candelabras, and only they can walk before God.” Charlie recited the exact words of the doctrine. “’For they light the path at God’s feet.’ This phrase is wrong unless it’s changed to: ‘They can light the path for humans to become gods.'”

This statement was so shocking that even Dwight couldn’t maintain his composure anymore. He straightened his body from the wicker chair, his eyes wide as he stared at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Charlie met his gaze without flinching.

“How can humans become gods?” The Duke stared into his eyes, as if looking for traces of madness or loss of reason.

“Humans indeed cannot become gods. You don’t need to look at me like that,” the shopkeeper said calmly. “I’m just repeating the wishes of those who enticed the Lamp Bearers to descend.” He told the Duke about the uncontrollable experiments of the mage in Mistress Daisy’s study before her death.

“Before Mistress Daisy inherited it, that castle had hosted many nobles. She not only opened Pandora’s box herself but also planted the seeds of blasphemy in others’ hearts.”

Blasphemy… Mortals attempting to obtain power to dominate the world was indeed akin to blasphemy.

“The church’s rule over the continents has lasted for thousands of years,” Dwight suddenly said. “After a long time of indoctrination, reverence for God has become an instinct for humans. Such blasphemous ideas cannot arise from nothing. That woman must have known something.”

He suddenly looked up. “The Holy Grail indeed exists.”

The Duke stated this as a fact.

The shopkeeper closed his eyes.

It was known that the Holy Grail was born through a mother, so the so-called Holy Grail was actually a person.

But why it was born, how it was born, and even how it became a power to manipulate the world after its birth remained unknown.

Just as reverence for God was an instinct for humans, so was the desire for power.

When mortals inadvertently glimpsed the path to godhood—even if just a few scattered clues—it could drive even a saint to go mad.

Thus, even after the woman trying to create the Holy Grail lost control, people continued to follow in her footsteps, deludedly attempting to create miracles themselves.

The Lamp Bearers were the door to the path of becoming a god, and only they could discern the authenticity of the Holy Grail.

But not just anyone could compel them to verify this. It could be seen that these blasphemous experiments didn’t cease with her death ten years ago but even achieved some results: they had seen Lamp Bearers at the Thorn Manor, meaning that at least a semi-finished product of the Holy Grail was completed there.

And more failed products silently disappeared, along with their unfortunate mothers, in various bizarre news stories.

Even now, there were new forces constantly trying to wedge into this forbidden game, like hyenas that smelled blood. Eugene once accidentally witnessed such a scene, and if not for his alertness, only silence awaited him.

“Foolish.” After listening to Charlie’s words, Dwight immediately said, “Utterly foolish.”

Charlie watched him without blinking.

“I don’t believe in the so-called Holy Grail’s power to manipulate continents, nor do I believe that humans can become gods.” The Duke of Brandenburg frowned. “But the current issue is exactly what that fool Tifa has done. It’s foolish enough that he hasn’t harmed his own wife, but believing in such things is enough to prove he’s a madman. Priscilla should know to keep her distance…”

He looked up and noticed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was still watching him.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow.

“What if the legends are true?” Charlie said calmly. “What if the Holy Grail does exist and does possess that power?”

“Only those who doubt themselves chase after illusions as elusive as the moon reflected in water. I only believe in the power I hold in my hands.” The Duke of Brandenburg’s expression gradually became menacing. “Whether you’re testing me or tempting me, you’d better stop right now. Otherwise, I will take it as contempt and provocation.”

Charlie suddenly laughed, relaxing the somewhat tense atmosphere.

“Only those who lack security seek power beyond their limits. You clearly aren’t that kind of person,” he said. “But Tifa is.”

That statement precisely hit Dwight’s concerns.

They both remembered Kurt’s prophecy.

Priscilla had two extremely dangerous people around her, and based on the clues they’d pieced together, it was very likely that they were the King and her husband Lestrop.

The royal secrets provided by the Fox, although seemingly absurd at first glance, had been bought by Dwight for a handsome sum. Concerning family honor, Yitzfa wouldn’t sell false information.

Tifa’s relationship with his queen was strained, the Queen had a past relationship with Lestrop before their marriage, and Priscilla’s resemblance to Tifa’s deceased elder sister meant Tifa was exceptionally kind to her… What a chaotic situation, so typically aristocratic.

Tifa’s popularity wasn’t high before he ascended the throne. It was normal for him to be concerned about his position, but his abandonment of the Queen’s family as a support to instead seek the birth of the Holy Grail likely indicated not only a lack of affection between him and the Queen but also that his ambitions were probably much greater than he had shown.

Priscilla had married into such a country—the young Duke felt a headache coming on.

No, the situation in the kingdoms of the Doran continent was much the same, and Mokwen was relatively wealthy. Some countries ravaged by war were worse off than Mokwen.

Would it be feasible now to kick Lestrop out and have her return to Pennigra?

After all, noblewomen (especially wealthy ones) had no trouble marrying. He now had the ability to have his sister stay in Pennigra to marry and have children, or perhaps it would be okay if she chose to stay in Lemena for life.

Charlie could roughly guess what Dwight was thinking.

As a foreigner from another continent, no matter how powerful he was in Pennigra, stepping into Doran meant he had to act discreetly and keep a low profile.

This wasn’t just because a strong dragon can hardly suppress the local snake. His unique status made it easy to trigger political conflicts between the two continents.

The young Duke was still very young. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt the need to tactfully remind him. “You’d better have another talk with Miss Priscilla.”

Dwight turned to look at him, his pale pupils almost transparent in the sunlight.

The shopkeeper sensed that what he was about to say next would not be pleasing to him.

“The experiments related to the Holy Grail have spread, and Tifa is almost certainly one of the participants. As Count Lestrop is Tifa’s own brother, it’s hard to assert whether he is aware of this matter.”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Dwight understood.

Could Lestrop possibly be one of the experiment participants too?

The Duke stood up abruptly, his face looking very unpleasant.

He turned and strode across the room, his boots striking the stone steps in an angry rhythm.

“Shivers! Shivers!” he called out loudly.

The Knight Commander, who was talking with Eugene in the smoking room, came out at the sound of the call, just in time to see the Duke walking down the last step, looking displeased.

Had he argued with Mr. Charlie?

Shivers pondered as he approached, about to speak, when the Duke sternly dropped a sentence.

“Contact Erica immediately. Have her arrange… No, I want her to personally confirm something.”

Dwight’s jaw and the curve of his lips were tense, and his gaze was stern. “I need to know if Priscilla is pregnant.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 61

“Mr. Charlie went alone to the completely burnt room to get something, and then we came back together,” Shivers said softly.

Eugene slammed his hands heavily on the thick wooden dining table, creating a dull thud. “My money is still with Columbus… He always carries the wallet. I said, if he loses a coin, he must pay me back double.”

The young man with perpetually messy hair sobbed, “He agreed.”

“What did he bring back?” It was a while before Dwight asked.

Shivers paused.

“Nothing at all,” he said honestly.

At that time, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper indeed came out of the castle empty-handed, and by then his expression had calmed somewhat, at least not as tense as during the hours waiting for the fire to die down, when no one dared to speak to him.

In fact, only Dr. Salman had the strength to comfort everyone, as they were all very distressed.

The magic book was destroyed. Not only could the girls no longer transform back into human forms, but even the guests who had been entertaining themselves at the castle for years weren’t spared—they did not turn into flowers but became prickly nettles.

Erica stayed there temporarily. Although the magic book in the study and the woman in the wall were destroyed, everyone agreed that it was best to close off the castle to avoid disturbing those poor girls and preventing them from resting in peace.

Eugene had cried the night before, but he couldn’t help it when Columbus was mentioned again, squeezing a handkerchief hard and blowing his nose forcefully.

This time, it was rare that the Duke didn’t criticize him for his behavior at the dining table. His attention was in another room.

Shivers understood him and ordered Shiloh to see if Charlie had gotten up.

Shiloh got up listlessly and went out, quickly returning, followed by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Everyone couldn’t help but stare at him.

However, it was hard to read any emotion from that fuzzy face. It seemed that the shopkeeper had lost some weight in the past two days.

But he was already quite thin, and now he was even thinner. It seemed as though the fat on his body had been consumed by his breathing after just one night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he said softly. “What’s for breakfast—sausages? That sounds good.” He sat down in the high-backed chair that had been left empty for him, pulled over a plate of cold fried eggs and sausages, and began to eat.

“Good morning,” Shivers said, as everyone looked at him with some concern.

Charlie seemed oblivious to the gazes fixated on his expression. After devouring two large plates of sausages and then an almond pudding, he finally stopped. He looked up with a face that seemed just to realize something, and said, “Why is everyone looking at me?”

Eugene and Shivers exchanged glances without speaking.

Dwight leaned slightly forward. “So, you left him in the castle?”

This question seemed out of the blue, but everyone present understood.

Eugene looked incredulously at the Duke (not daring to glare at him) and was silently angry at the Duke’s habit of bringing up uncomfortable topics.

However, unlike what Eugene had guessed, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t react as if stepped on. Quite the contrary, he briefly paused before putting down his silver spoon, crossed his hands on the table, and thought seriously.

It was hard for him to explain his feelings at that moment.

Probably because he had been forced to face separations and losses from birth, Charlie had gotten used to self-hypnosis from a young age, constantly convincing himself to prepare mentally in advance to avoid collapsing when the real shock came.

To him, there was nothing in the world that was irreplaceable, including his own life.

He and Columbus had been each other’s company for a long time. They were deeply attached, but when the other left this world, he felt more bewildered and empty than in pain.

Because when he returned to the fire scene, no one could understand more clearly than him that this result was Columbus’s own choice—a very firm choice.

“I didn’t leave him there,” Charlie said thoughtfully. “The castle was his destination. He just arrived early, that’s all.”

“I don’t understand,” Eugene said hoarsely.

Charlie turned his head to look at Shivers. The Knight Commander shook his head. “I don’t want to discuss this behind your back, so…”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper nodded in understanding.

“After the fire was extinguished, I went back to the scene. Columbus didn’t leave anything behind. His tin soldier body melted into a pile of tin in the fire—okay, Eugene,” he called out understandingly, as Eugene made another loud nose-blowing sound.

“Listen to me. Miraculously, on top of that pile of tin, there was a small daisy. Not the kind with deep red or pure white with lush petals that are often seen in elaborate varieties, but a common white daisy with a bright yellow center that you often see on early spring hillsides among the weeds. We’ve all heard Columbus’s story. The daisy he took from the witch back then was a small one. I had never seen that daisy and always thought it had been lost halfway when I took him away from Doran… At that time, Columbus’ consciousness wasn’t clear enough, and by the time he fully recovered, he could no longer remember such details, so perhaps even he didn’t know that the daisy he brought out had always been hidden in his body, never withering.”

The Duke lowered his eyes. “In other words, he believed he had found his sister.”

“By age, Mistress Daisy indeed fits the bill.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper seemed tired just after getting up. He unusually, without decorum, rested his head on the table, his voice somewhat muffled. “Little Balda… After Columbus’ accident, the entire village was affected. Remember? Columbus’ father was injured and could no longer work, and if they had to move due to the witch’s wrath, such a struggling family couldn’t afford the loss of relocating. The injured father deteriorated without treatment and died first, followed by the mother, who had to overwork herself raising her daughter, quickly worn down by life, and the little daughter eventually became an orphan, treated like cattle, and trafficked everywhere. The last time, she ended up in the hands of that mage, or rather, witch. If Balda was sensible before her parents died, she might remember or have heard from her parents about her unfortunate brother and the culprit behind her family’s collapse being a witch. She would naturally hate witches, and the abuse she suffered in the castle would deepen her hatred. When the master’s magic went out of control, she seized the opportunity, trying to make up for the suffering she had endured for many years with the magic left by the previous master, while keeping that half-dead woman confined in the sunless study room to suffer for a long time, probably… She saw this as a long revenge.”

“But, I mean, Columbus hasn’t been back to Doran for many years, right?” Eugene said with reddened eyes. “How could he be sure that was his sister?”

This question was even difficult for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper to answer.

The tin soldier’s memories were riddled with holes over time; sometimes he even forgot his sister’s name, Balda.

Assuming that Mistress Daisy was indeed little Balda, her appearance before her death—standing in the study, her hair disheveled, her skin sagging, and her eyes wild—would certainly have been completely different from the little girl who loved flowers back then.

There was no evidence, but Columbus recognized her at a glance.

Without a second thought, the tin soldier rushed in—but he didn’t try to pull Mistress Daisy out of the fire scene. Instead, he just held her tightly, very tightly.

Everyone said that the tin soldier was too simple-minded, but Charlie felt that at that moment, Columbus considered more things than anyone else.

He must have firmly believed that the study, ablaze with fire in the castle, was the final destination of his journey with Balda, which was why he made such a decision.

No one answered Eugene’s question. For a moment, everyone was silent, and the atmosphere was somewhat heavy. Charlie pushed away his plate, deciding to go out for some fresh air.

Due to the increased number of people, the wealthy Duke had booked the entire inn, giving them free use of the entire building.

Charlie went up to the top floor and found the largest balcony, where he sat cross-legged on the cold floor, watching the pedestrians come and go on the street below.

When he first entered the continent of Doran, he seemed to have chatted with Columbus on a balcony like this, watching the unfamiliar street scenes and crowds… What had they talked about? Ah, that’s right, they must have talked about little Balda. Columbus liked to talk about her.

Charlie suddenly felt a bit uninterested.

He aimlessly fumbled in his trouser pocket until a lazy voice came from behind him. “Got a hole in your pocket?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stopped and turned to look. The young Duke was leaning against the balcony’s sliding door, tossing something small up and down in his hand. Seeing him turn around, he tossed it to him.

The shopkeeper caught it and found it to be a very elegant pure silver round box, with a large blue gem set in the lid, looking like a jewel box but a bit too simple in design—he flicked open the clasp with one hand and found it contained not jewels, but fine tobacco.

He lit his pipe and took a comfortable puff.

Dwight also walked onto the balcony but didn’t come too close to the railing.

He was still sensitive about his elfish rumors, to the point where he felt the urge to punch anyone who dared give him a few extra glances.

“Seeing as it’s on the account of the tobacco,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said with a smile, “What would His Grace like to ask?”

The Duke hesitated unusually. “Shivers thinks it’s best not to ask you any questions for now.”

“Then why did you still ask at the dining table?” Charlie took another puff of his pipe.

“Do you wish I hadn’t asked?” Dwight countered.

In Pennigra, he was a revered Duke. Apart from the Emperor of the Empire, he hardly needed to consider before speaking whether his questions were appropriate.

After their return, Charlie had gone straight to sleep for a whole day and night, and everyone was eager to know exactly what had happened in the study then, but everyone thought that this wasn’t the time to ask the shopkeeper any questions.

Only the Duke baselessly believed that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper wasn’t as averse to answering questions as everyone thought, so he spoke up.

Even his Knight Commander thought this move was somewhat inappropriate.

So he came to ask again—although his actual intention was: I spoke because I thought you weren’t as averse to this matter as they thought, and not to purposely provoke you. If I guessed wrong, then I’m just letting you know that wasn’t my intention.

Miraculously, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper seemed to grasp his central idea.

In his view, the Duke’s counter-question was almost the same as saying “sorry”.

Realizing this did lighten his mood somewhat. Of course, he couldn’t let the Duke know that he had amused him.

Charlie took another puff of his pipe.

“It’s okay,” he said slowly. “Columbus told me that no matter how many years pass, he could recognize his sister Balda at a glance. I believe him. This time, he reached the end of the journey earlier than I did. As a friend, I shouldn’t presume to feel regret for him.”

“As for asking questions… Why not ask?” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s gaze turned to the street scene below the balcony, and he said softly, “Although I don’t like to say it, if only I remember him, it would be too lonely. Everyone may be distressed now, but I actually don’t want Columbus to be treated as a taboo—I hope he is often mentioned and remembered. That is the only way to truly keep him here.”

---

The author has something to say:

The shopkeeper had previously comforted the Duke in the same way.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 60

Apart from Dr. Salman, who was closest to Columbus, no one heard Columbus’ words.

Everyone was still unaware of what had happened when the tin soldier suddenly charged in—Dr. Salman instinctively reached out to grab him, but the other was too fast, his fingertips only barely brushing the hat on his head.

Dr. Salman’s heart sank, and before he could think further, his body reacted faster than his brain, reaching out again—this time, he forcefully stopped the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who also wanted to rush forward.

Shiloh, completely unaware of what was happening, saw only smoke and fire everywhere in the study, and the study doorway was now impassable. He instinctively stepped forward to help Dr. Salman hold back Charlie. “You’re crazy! You can’t make it five steps in there without being burned alive. Look at all the fur on your face!”

Shiloh looked young but was surprisingly strong, pulling the rabbit-headed shopkeeper back several steps and asking, “What’s going on?!”

“The tin soldier ran in,” Dr. Salman said, looking back at the study now engulfed in flames, then anxiously at Charlie, who was struggling.

“I need to go pull Columbus out.”

“Don’t go,” Dr. Salman suddenly said. “The tin soldier doesn’t need to breathe. There’s no path left. Let me go in and find him.”

Hearing this, Charlie stopped moving.

The room was ablaze, and any ordinary person entering would surely be injured.

He immediately reached out to grab Dr. Salman’s arm and said, “Don’t—” but the next second, his hand grasped at empty air as Dr. Salman seemingly disappeared on the spot.

In his place was a pigeon, twice the size of its usual form, with a deep gray body, brown-yellow feathers on its belly, and bright, warm eyes that swept over everyone before flapping its wings towards the study.

Shiloh was stunned. “My God… what is this?”

Charlie was also stunned.

The shock of Dr. Salman turning into a pigeon somewhat calmed him from the shock of Columbus running into the inferno, silently watching the billowing smoke in the study with Shiloh.

At first, they could only see a shadow moving quickly inside. Then they saw nothing at all.

It was unclear how much time had passed before the pigeon emerged from the fire, its wings carrying tiny sparks, obviously disoriented by the smoke, nearly crashing into the corridor’s stone wall before Shiloh quickly intercepted it.

The pigeon came out alone.

It turned around on the spot and transformed back into the tall, thin, and genteel doctor.

His eyes were streaming with tears from the smoke, and his voice was hoarse and inaudible as he tightly grasped the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. “He… He wouldn’t come out.”

Given the tin soldier’s size and weight, he could have been carried out of the fire by clinging to the pigeon’s foot, but he did not do so.

Once Dr. Salman had regained a little strength, he intermittently described the last scene he saw.

Due to the high heat, the paint on the tin soldier’s body had begun to peel off, and his features were becoming indistinct—he also stood on the study’s carpet, silent, tightly holding Mistress Daisy, and didn’t respond to Dr. Salman’s rescue efforts until the end.

Mistress Daisy had already been rendered unconscious by the thick smoke, and it was hard to say whether she had seen the tin soldier rush in from the doorway, but when Dr. Salman entered, the large book she had been holding had fallen to the floor and started burning.

Dr. Salman circled the room a few times, and upon realizing it was beyond saving, turned to head towards the door but looked back one last time.

The flames and heat distorted the interior view, so he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination: he thought he saw Mistress Daisy’s other hand also embracing the tin soldier.

Once such an ancient castle caught fire, there was no way to extinguish it other than letting it burn out naturally.

The group sat disheveled in the garden, watching the thick black smoke billow from the upper rooms of the castle. No one spoke for a long time.

Shiloh, still a minor and having spent the longest time with Charlie and Columbus among them, was visibly shaken and upset, his eyes reddening.

He couldn’t fathom why the tin soldier had chosen to run to his death when everything was about to be resolved.

This was a question only Charlie could answer, but no one dared to ask him.

Charlie’s top hat and pipe lay on the ground. He sat silently, not saying a word.

The young knight, stifled and unable to vent, angrily kicked the stone-built flower bed several times.

Dr. Salman looked from one to another, wanting to say something to comfort everyone, but not knowing how to start, he too fell silent.

Erika’s expression was grim, continuously looking towards the greenhouse direction.

While everyone else had gone to support the study, she alone had stayed behind, accompanying and comforting the girls.

She sat in the greenhouse, surrounded by excited and thrilled young girls, who, despite having endured much deception, hurt, and pain, showed little sign of harboring deep-seated hatred.

On the contrary, the girls were almost overwhelmingly positive. Their cheeks were flushed, and the livelier ones asked her name, whether she was engaged; the more reserved ones began to worry whether Charlie and the others had managed to get the keys, whether they would have to walk out of the castle; and some were more silent, merely pursing their lips gently and quietly watch their companions chat excitedly.

Erika was particularly adept at interacting with such women—perhaps more so than the entire Brandenburg Knights.

She was handsome and gentle, tirelessly answering every question, never ignoring any girl because of silence.

She had also taken down every girl’s address, promising to drive them home by carriage.

And Alice, anxiously and quietly inquiring whether Mr. Charlie would let her serve as a maid in return for her services if she had no money.

They had bravely defeated the villain, fully expecting a happy ending.

No one in the greenhouse knew what was happening in the castle study, but suddenly, amidst laughter and gentle voices, it was as if someone had snuffed out all those joyful and tender sounds.

Right before Erika’s eyes, the girls, one by one, froze. Then, under the moonlight spilling from the greenhouse ceiling, all turned into flowers.

Hydrangeas, jasmines, irises, nasturtiums, dahlias… In the blink of an eye, the lively young girls had disappeared, leaving only out-of-season, silently swaying flowers. Erika stood alone among the flowers, not even having time to conceal her astonishment.

Only when the last flames had finally died out and the smoke had cleared did the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who had been silent all this while, put on his top hat again and walk towards the castle.

He refused anyone’s company.

Seeing the expressions on Shiloh and Erika’s faces, Dr. Salman was silent for a while, then suddenly said, “Mr. Charlie might need some time, but before that, would you like to hear a story?”

He put on the glasses he had removed to disguise himself as a coachman, knelt back down on the ground, and said in a low voice, “I had previously told half of it to Erika… Shiloh hasn’t heard it yet. Let me start from the beginning.”

Although Shiloh wasn’t in the mood for stories, Erika pressed his head down to sit, and he reluctantly propped his chin with his hand, looking at the dewdrops sparkling on the grass tips in the morning light.

“…The young man fell in love with the girl, but the nymphs were angry and devised an evil plan to ruin their love. The young man had been raised by the nymphs and had deep affection for them, but upon hearing their conspiracy, he immediately fled with the girl at night.

However, in the forest, every owl was a sentinel for the nymphs, and they informed them. The nymphs, burned by jealousy of love, became witches and chased them in the forest.

But the young man had also grown up in the forest; the old willow trees and the rabbits and foxes all helped to block the pursuers.

The second nymph, unable to catch up with them, cursed the young man to turn into a pigeon; the third nymph, riding a she-wolf and unable to catch them, cursed the young man never to die; the fourth nymph, in the form of a cat, also unable to catch them, cursed their time in love to always be less than seven days.

Eventually, they escaped the forest, but the girl’s back was scratched by the fourth nymph in her cat form, and she died after running a high fever for three days.”

Hearing this, Shiloh sat up straight, looking at Dr. Salman in surprise, and then his head was forcefully pushed down again by Erika.

Dr. Salman continued, “After the girl died, the young man was devastated and wanted to die with his lover but found he could not end his life no matter what, and he also gained the ability to turn into a pigeon.

So, he turned into a pigeon and flew east until he was tired and landed. He worked as a tavern helper, a street artist, and whenever he got bored, he would turn into a pigeon and leave.

Twenty years later, the young man met a flower-selling girl in a town, and he knew she was the girl who had been picking mushrooms in the forest because they fell in love at first sight again.

They met on a Monday, and by Thursday, the flower girl was killed by her jealous fiancé with a knife.

Because the young man doesn’t age or die, he could only travel from one city to another on the continent, just like the flower girl, and after a while, he would always meet lovers of different appearances, ages, and genders, and he would always recognize her and fall in love with her again.

But their time in love was always brief—never more than seven days—and they would inevitably part again.

After each love ended, he would pack his bags and travel everywhere. No one knew where his next destination would be, but he knew that when he next stopped, his long-lost lover would be waiting for him.”

His story was finished.

Shiloh looked even sadder now, but Dr. Salman was amused by him and reached out to pat his head.

“It’s okay. There’s no need to be like this,” he said calmly. “It’s a very old story from a long, long time ago.”

He genuinely comforted the young knight because, at the start of the story, everyone, including Dr. Salman himself, was as energetic and hopeful as Shiloh.

So he hoped Shiloh would always be like that.

Unfortunately, only when the story reached its end did time reveal its true power to everyone.

He had told this story more than once and no longer felt as moved as his listeners.

He was just… like someone lost in an endless swamp, and his lover was the log under his feet.

But each log would quickly disappear, so he couldn’t stay, only stepping on the logs as he moved along.

This journey had been too long—so long that he wasn’t even sure if he would have the courage to step onto the next log when it appeared.

He was neither human nor pigeon.

He neither aged nor died, yet he had died thousands of times.

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The author has something to say:

Columbus’s inspiration came from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale “The Steadfast Tin Soldier”.

Alice and the other girls were inspired by Andersen’s “The Daisy”.

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Kinky Thoughts:

What? No… I like Columbus. He can’t be dead, right?

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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 59

Even Charlie instinctively stepped back upon seeing the scene. He knew what this terrifying sight meant but had never witnessed it with his own eyes.

Magic backlash.

This was one of the key reasons why great mages strove to absorb talented children into school systems to learn magic. Magic was a precious gift, but if one had abundant magic without control, it was like handing a sharp, pointed knife to a three-year-old child who was unaware of the power in their hands, making it more likely to cause harm before they realized what it meant.

Once these gifted individuals entered school, they also learned from books about another behavior that could lead to magic backlash—forcefully exploring forbidden magic.

Many mages, unwilling to be controlled by the kingdom and the church, were labeled witches or warlocks for this reason. The Mages Association classified magic very meticulously and strictly limited the range of magic that students could access according to their magic levels.

This wasn’t only because truly powerful and treasured magic must be kept in the hands of royalty, but also because attempting magic beyond one’s level could likely cause magic backlash.

At the Monterey Academy’s library, the first five pages of nearly every book on the magic classification shelves contained warnings about these taboos, printed with various bizarre outcomes of losing control: some people grew tentacles and eyes all over their bodies; some melted into a puddle of self-aware flesh that could be put into a jar; others grew skin several times their own surface area. In any case, no one could maintain a normal human appearance, and what was terrifying was they didn’t immediately die but remained temporarily conscious to endure it all. If no one ended their lives, they must continue to exist in an inhuman state, gradually losing memory and sanity over time, becoming a true monster.

The woman before them was clearly the result of a mage’s loss of control years ago. She looked like a faded plaster statue, emitting a smell akin to decay, which might be why the room always had strong incense burning.

Her physical damage was more severe than her mental state, with everything below her neck immobile, but her eyeballs could still crazily whirl around in their sockets, making her appearance nauseating.

“Ha! You ungrateful, lying little beast!” she rasped. “Got what was coming to you?”

She venomously stared at Mistress Daisy, babbling incoherently. “What day is it today? Tidy up my wardrobe. The Count is coming this afternoon. You better sew the pearls on my shoes properly. Don’t think about being lazy, or I’ll have Popo scratch your hands to shreds. You ungrateful, lying little beast, I should have thrown you into the fireplace and turned you into ashes, you dirty, shameless, vile scum—”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had figured it all out.

Mistress Daisy, just like Alice and Daphne, had once been enslaved by this woman, enduring suffering without freedom.

As a mage (likely an unacknowledged witch), this woman had probably imposed much stricter control and oppression on the castle than Mistress Daisy ever did, to the extent that after she lost control and embedded herself into the wall, Mistress Daisy hadn’t killed her, but let her live in such a state for so long—concealed behind a curtain and strong scent of incense.

This was undoubtedly also a torment for Mistress Daisy, but…

“You once served this mage,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said to Mistress Daisy. “You know what magic she cast on this castle, and you know that even without magic, using that book could still maintain this magic operation.”

That was very likely.

For such a powerful mage, Mistress Daisy and the other servants in the castle were no different from ants in her eyes, and even handing that book of magic to Mistress Daisy wouldn’t work in front of the real master.

If it weren’t for her own magical loss of control, Mistress Daisy would likely still be just an ordinary maid in the castle to this day.

The woman in the wall was already not quite sane. Mistress Daisy looked at her coldly, saying nothing with eyes full of hatred.

Perhaps it was this hatred that made her preserve the woman’s life, wanting to watch her gradually lose her mind and become a crazed, unfree monster—perhaps even more so because the book controlling the castle came from this deranged mage’s hands. Although she was no longer able to manipulate anything, the magic remaining in her body could maximize the effective duration of this magical item.

At that moment, just as things had momentarily calmed down outside, there came a loud knock at the door. It was probably Shiloh who had dealt with the large hound, trying to figure out what exactly was happening in the locked study.

“I originally thought that this evil ball system was also part of your inherited property, but it seems not,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said softly. His usual relaxed and gentle demeanor was gone, and his voice became unusually cold and harsh. “This woman did even more evil things with young girls back then.”

Mistress Daisy looked somewhat surprised. “You’re also a mage?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper ignored her, walking straight to the woman embedded in the wall, examining her twisted body. “What did she do before she destroyed herself? Or should I say—what magic was she trying to complete that caused her to lose control of her magic?”

“That’s why I say, they’re all ungrateful, lying little beasts,” Mistress Daisy scoffed coldly.

“If they were under this woman’s control, they wouldn’t survive a year. The castle ten years ago isn’t what it is now. No one without a title could step in. Her guests even included several kings who came secretly with their guards, followed by carriages filled with gold and gems.”

Charlie seemed not to have taken in a word, asking again, “What magic was she trying to complete that caused her to lose control?”

Mistress Daisy could tell that the quirky rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s attention was no longer on her at all. She relaxed a bit, disdainfully saying: “She was always conducting strange experiments, making girls drink her potions, then forcing them to become pregnant—”

Charlie’s pupils suddenly constricted.

Mistress Daisy couldn’t see the expression on Charlie’s face, which was turned away from her, and she went on. “She hoped the girls would give birth to something special. I can’t remember. She only mentioned it when she was in a good mood—if it had been successful, she would have become one of the most powerful people across several continents. She put nearly all her energy into it, but the experiment never succeeded. With each failure, she would furiously smash everything in the room until, finally, she could no longer endure it and decided to try it on herself, and then…”

She laughed heartily. “She also failed, self-destructed, and it all ended.”

What did she want to give birth to? The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stared at the former mage’s swollen belly, feeling as if he were standing in the snow, frozen stiff, unable to move.

“What did she want to give birth to?” Charlie heard his own querying voice.

Mistress Daisy sneered, “I don’t know. She never let anyone near her potion chamber. Only kings were worthy of speaking with her alone.” It seemed like many years had passed since she last recalled these events, and she suddenly paused.

“I once brought tea in there,” she suddenly said. “She discussed this matter with a king from some country. She said she needed the ‘Holy Grail’, but all the girls were useless trash…”

 Mistress Daisy shut her mouth because the rabbit-headed shopkeeper suddenly turned around, his face expressing something very terrible.

“I understand,” Charlie said coldly, repeating, “I understand.”

That was the true purpose of the mage hiding the castle and setting up a domain spell—not to attempt the forbidden, but to create the forbidden.

The ‘Holy Grail’ she spoke of held the power to control continents but could only be born through a mother.

But humans couldn’t even control the sex of a baby. How could they easily create something with such forbidden power?

As a result, she was punished by God and the natural laws, completely losing control of her magic, and this evil experiment was thus interrupted.

Mistress Daisy, her servant, had always been by her side. Although she had vaguely overheard some information, she didn’t truly understand the significance of her actions because she wasn’t a mage.

Thus, the ignorant Mistress Daisy merely used her inheritance to imitate her methods, repeating the past actions of exploiting girls for wealth, but she didn’t inherit the true pursuit—nor did she have the capability to do so.

But Charlie gleaned more crucial information from Mistress Daisy’s words: that the mage had sought cooperation with a [King], and not just one. This meant that, although this evil magic hadn’t reappeared in this castle, it was very likely that it had already spread out, and various forces had obtained the “experiment notes” of this mage and were attempting to continue exploring, either openly or covertly, to bring forth the “Holy Grail”.

“Give me that book,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said to Mistress Daisy, taking a step towards her. “This castle cannot remain—at least not in this form. She’s dead, but her experiments were very dangerous, and the people who dealt with her are equally dangerous. They are very likely to come knocking again if you keep these magical items.”

“No!” Mistress Daisy screamed. “I would rather burn it than give it to you. Everyone’s name is on it. Everyone has eaten the food of the castle. If this book is destroyed, everyone will die!”

“That’s just a side effect of the domain magic. Like a curse, it can be undone,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said as patiently as possible. “Give me the book. Let me have a look…”

“No one is taking this book away,” Mistress Daisy said, ignoring the shouting outside the door, her eyes flashing with fanatic light. “It’s mine. This castle is mine too. I have given everything. It must repay me. If anyone tries to take all this from me,” she paused, suddenly bending over to pull a burning log from the fireplace towards Charlie. “I’ll kill them!”

Charlie had no choice but to raise his hands. A woman like Mistress Daisy was no match for him in a fight, and rather than worry about the flaming log poking him, he was more concerned about her swinging it around, causing more severe consequences.

“Calm down!” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper warned her loudly. “Your study is full of paper and wood. It’s best not to touch fire.”

But Mistress Daisy wasn’t listening. She held the log as if it were a long sword, filled with power and a face full of unnatural fanatic expression. She seemed somewhat deranged as she waved it towards Charlie. “Get out of my castle!”

Charlie quickly reached out to block it, retreating a few steps. “Don’t do this. Watch the fire!”

He tried to restrain Mistress Daisy as best as he could to protect himself, lest the log in her hand poke into the books on the bookshelf, but the frantic Mistress Daisy swung it a few times, setting the curtains on the wall on fire.

Charlie rushed to try to stomp out the flames but was driven back by Mistress Daisy—where she passed, a few more sparks ignited, and the burning letters were very quick to catch fire, the flames suddenly growing larger, smoke gradually filling the entire study.

“Break down the door!” Charlie shouted loudly without thinking. “It’s on fire inside!”

Columbus and the others had been keeping an eye on the noise in the room, and now, seeing smoke seeping under the door, Shiloh pushed the tin soldiers back and pressed the door panel to test its thickness before starting to kick the door.

“Don’t burn it anymore!” Charlie choked on the smoke. “Throw your book away!”

“No! It’s mine! No one is allowed to take it from me!” Mistress Daisy’s face twisted, as if she had really gone mad—perhaps she had been mad for a long time.

At this time, the woman in the wall started giggling again, shouting at the woman, who paid no heed to her, continuing to laugh and sing a strange song, seemingly pleased to see the room full of flames.

It was unclear how long Mistress Daisy chased Charlie around the cramped study with the burning log, but Shiloh finally kicked the door open. The rush of heat and smoke pushed him back two steps—perhaps the influx of air made the flames even fiercer.

Charlie’s eyes were nearly closed from the smoke, barely making out the door. He took long strides and rushed towards it.

Mistress Daisy, originally chasing him, stopped when she saw the study door open, turning back to look in the direction of the woman in the wall.

“Throw down the book!” Charlie hoarsely shouted at her. “Come this way!”

He shouldn’t have shouted, for it made Mistress Daisy neurotically clutch the large book even tighter. After Charlie left the room, she no longer moved, standing in the center of the study, holding the book. The carpet at her feet had also caught fire.

Dr. Salman, who at some point also arrived, helped Shiloh kick the door open; Shiloh, gasping for breath, pulled Charlie away from the door to prevent him from being scorched by the hot air. “Forget about her. There’s no water on the third floor. This kind of fire can’t be controlled—anyway, this evil woman deserves to die. Let’s close the door and let her go to hell with that magic book.”

Columbus was also righteously indignant. “Shiloh is right! She did so many bad things. She should go to hell!”

The fire in the study was already very large, the smoke making the inside scene blurry. As Columbus squeezed forward, he peeked in to see what that terrible woman looked like.

Mistress Daisy stood on the carpet as her dress also caught fire.

Her hair was disheveled, her expression obsessed, only looking down at the book in her hands with no intention of escaping the room—the fire was too large. She wouldn’t be able to escape in a few minutes.

Dr. Salman saw Columbus trying to approach the door and had to reach out to pull him back to prevent him from getting overheated by the flames, but he couldn’t move him.

The tin soldier stood at the doorway of the study, blankly watching the woman in the flames.

“Balda?” He softly called out a name.

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The author has something to say:

“You do have a sister. Do you remember her name?” Charlie asked.

“I do, my little Balda!” Columbus brightened again. “Charlie, I haven’t forgotten her! I remember now. Mom embroidered many little daisies on her apron. Everyone loved her, lovely Balda!”

Chapter 16.

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Kinky Thoughts:

That was a connection I did not foresee.

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