Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 43

“Charge! Charge! The spirit of freedom will not submit!” a robust voice shouted. As the crowd turned to look, some couldn’t help but cry out in surprise.

In front of a hay bale, an old goat stood majestically at the forefront, flanked by several fierce-looking geese and a hen. Behind these animals, a pair of disheveled young man and woman looked on in bewilderment, trembling incessantly.

“Isn’t that John’s old goat? Why is it speaking?” a bearded farmer asked in amazement.

“It’s the demons! It must be the demons! They’re driving the beasts to attack humans!” an elderly woman shouted shrilly. “Drive them away! Stab them with pitchforks! Burn their bones!”

The two young people, surrounded by the farmers, trembled even more.

At that moment, the old goat called out again, “They’re not demons—just a pair of unfortunate lovers. Just let them pass—”

A sharp-eyed person noticed something. “Is there something in the hay bale?”

“Please,” said the girl among the two young people, pleading. She had a few freckles on her nose, and her long brown hair was braided. If it weren’t for the mud and hay on her, she would look quite charming.

“We’re not thieves, just passing through—please let us leave. I swear to Lord Oelde, we will not take even a single straw.”

“You are not from Horn Village. Why are you in my orchard?” the leading bearded farmer shouted. “If you are from a good family, why are you sneaking around? What are your names? Where are you from?”

The two young people looked at each other, but neither spoke. The brown-haired, skinny boy cautiously pulled the girl’s hand and took a step back.

At this, anyone with a bit of understanding knew what was happening: a young couple appearing disheveled in a strange land—they were most likely eloping lovers.

Unlike the romantic tales sung by bards, rural elopements weren’t about noble ladies or young masters falling in love with lowly commoners and fleeing their families in overly fantastical plots. Instead, they often involved parents displeased with a boy’s family wealth and unwilling to follow their daughter’s wishes, looking to trade for greater benefits.

“Have you betrayed your parents and fled your home?” the bearded farmer bellowed.

The brown-haired boy shook his head, gathering the courage to speak. “We do not wish to betray our families, but my fiancée’s life was in danger, and we had to flee at night to survive. Please open the fence. We will leave immediately and cause no trouble.”

His words made things worse. An inebriated old man jumped up. “Did you offend some nobleman to end up here?! Now those knights will soon flatten our village! You two evil, despicable villains!”

His words were like a drop of water in hot oil. The farmers clenched their pitchforks, their faces turning purple with anger. The leading bearded man took a step forward.

“Noble souls do not fear war!” that strange, highly emotional voice shouted again. “Comrades! The time to charge for justice has come!”

An old woman screamed miserably—a plump hen flew at her, wings flapping hard over her face, frightening her into tripping over her apron and falling to the ground.

The old goat stood up on its hind legs like a steed, with several geese flapping their wings vigorously, charging at the people. The farmers were busy helping the old woman and defending against these animals, very afraid of this abnormal situation and, for a moment, unable to subdue them.

The voice shouting to charge had now moved from the old goat’s back to the hay bale. In the chaos, not many noticed that a little tin soldier lay there, commanding loudly, “Léfou! His weakness is on the left foot! Watch out! Their pitchforks are very sharp!”

The red-haired girl was initially stunned by the scene, but regaining her senses, she quickly bent down to pick up a broken old bucket and slammed it hard onto the head of a man wrestling with a white goose, causing him to stagger and fall. The goose triumphantly stepped onto his chest, stretching its neck and squawking twice.

“Emily…” the brown-haired boy stared at her in shock.

Emily lifted her skirt, speaking with a formidable aura. “Don’t just stand there! Do you want us all to lose our lives here?”

The boy, as if awakening from a dream, hurriedly climbed onto the hay bale and picked up the little tin soldier. He tucked it under his arm while pushing away a woman trying to grab Emily’s arm and dragging her stumbling towards the depths of the orchard.

The little tin soldier’s thin legs dangled under his arm. “Charge! Our souls will never submit!”

Charlie suddenly stopped and looked out the window.

He had just felt something strange. It was indescribable, but odd.

Outside was Mrs. Milou’s small garden, where two pink butterflies danced among the cabbage, all quiet, nothing unusual.

He frowned, withdrew his gaze, and wiped a speck of dirt from his walking stick with a tiny square handkerchief. The Duke’s belongings were of the finest quality, but the drawbacks of not having a professional maid along after a long journey were inevitably apparent—unlike clothes that could be worn and discarded, especially when they currently lacked even the facilities to discard clothes.

Dwight glanced at him silently, clearly displeased, unwilling to continue the conversation.

The Duke was in a bad mood, having not changed clothes for three days. At Brandenburg, clothes Dwight took off were usually not worn again. His estate had a tailor shop serving the Dwight family, and even without counting the new outfits bought annually, the shop’s efficiency ensured the Duke could change into four different sets of clothes daily without repetition for a year.

But that wasn’t feasible here. Although they had ample funds, their quasi-legal status forced the Duke to keep a low profile in most situations, even after a series of escapes, necessitating a temporary stay in an oil-stained, cluttered farmhouse, making him feel itchy all over.

“Alright.” Charlie stood the walking stick upright, examined it, and returned it to the Duke, neatly folding the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Don’t look so grim, Your Grace. I believe Dave will soon bring us suitable horses, and if we’re lucky, we’ll reach the town the villagers spoke of by tomorrow, where you’ll find the bathtub and nightgown you need.”

Dwight grimaced. “Anything made of material other than silk can only be called a potato sack, not a nightgown.”

Charlie shrugged.

The conditions in Horn Village were too primitive for His Grace to bear, so they planned to head to the nearest town to make further plans.

Among the scattered group, Shivers could keep himself safe with either force or looks, Eugene knew various survival skills under extreme conditions, and as for Columbus, as long as he wasn’t thrown into a burning stove, even a bear wouldn’t pose a life-threatening danger.

So Charlie agreed to the duke’s plan, not because he was also fastidious, but out of self-interest, he too wanted to quickly distance himself from the Lamp Bearers of Thorn Manor—the sooner, the better, the further, the better.

Thus, the two devised a compromise. Citing the long-term life of luxury as unbearable for further travel, they gave Dave some money to buy two horses at Thorn Manor on their behalf.

Because the reward was substantial, Dave urgently recruited a few trustworthy people and headed to Thorn Manor in the morning, indeed returning with two horses.

The Duke of Brandenburg was always generous, leaving the remaining money from the horse purchase to Dave as a reward, exciting the burly farmer to the point of incoherence. He insisted on driving them to the main road in a cart.

If one could view Horn Village from above, it would appear as a crescent-shaped, narrow village, surrounded on three sides by slopes, with one side bordered by a river with ample water, the villagers’ crops concentrated in the relatively flat valleys, and many fruit trees planted on the slopes, but with the winter just over, the new buds on the branches were sparse.

Dave, wary of conversing with Dwight, diligently stayed close to Charlie’s side, attempting to introduce Horn Village—but the ordinary little village had little to offer in terms of novelty. Luckily, a piece of recent news barely sufficed as something novel to tell the Lord.

“Just today at noon, something strange happened in the village next door,” Dave said. “A pair of eloping lovers ran into a fruit farmer’s orchard, and the owner of the orchard was furious. That unlucky guy—I’ve seen him during the Boal festival. He has a terrible temper. Anyway, he went to check his orchard and found the couple. He tried to drive them out, but then something bizarre happened—an old goat started talking, loudly scolding him.”

The Duke: “……”

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “……”

If it weren’t for his belief that Dave lacked such sophisticated social skills, he might almost think this man was deliberately telling this story in front of his rabbit-headed self.

Indeed, Dave hadn’t noticed the Lords’ odd reactions and thought he’d found a good topic to continue with. “That farmer was terrified. He called for some helpers, wanting to tie up that evil old goat along with the chickens and dogs around it, but the couple and the animals escaped deeper into the orchard. Who knows their own orchard better than the farmer? He gathered more people to corner and capture them all. But guess what?”

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “……”

Dave lowered his voice. “The old goat was still there, but out of nowhere, a highly skilled ally appeared and quickly knocked everyone to the ground before they all escaped—even the goat and the hen and geese!”

…Okay. Although it was a love story, the shopkeeper and the Duke, a bit overwhelmed by their own problems, had little interest in rumors that were half fact, half hearsay. The usually gentle shopkeeper managed a polite response. “That’s indeed strange. I hope no one was hurt.”

They were nearly at the end of the country road when Dave, a bit reluctant to end the conversation, hesitated before saying, “Speaking of coincidences, I went to Thorn Manor today and heard that a maid had run away. Several skilled people from the manor were organized to chase her, but they didn’t mention any man running with her.”

If that girl was a runaway serf from the manor, this would be very different from the nature of rural youths freely falling in love, as everyone except the owner and the management at the manor had no personal freedom. Everything about them belonged to the owner. Leaving the owner’s territory without permission counted as escaping serfdom, and according to the laws of most countries, the owner had the right to dispose of their lives—typically they were caught and executed on the spot.

It wasn’t that losing one or two workers would cause any real damage to the owner. It was the direct challenge to the owner’s authority that was deadly. If they encountered an unreasonable noble, it was possible that their anger could extend to the village or town where they hid.

This was precisely why Dave dared not directly suggest that the eloping couple might have come from Thorn Manor, fearing it might bring trouble to the neighboring village or even Horn Village. It was only because he saw that Charlie and Dwight were about to leave this place and would have no contact with Thorn Manor that he ventured to discuss it, showcasing a bit of cunning on Dave’s part.

As Dave expected, the two beleaguered Lords weren’t particularly interested in other people’s secrets. Charlie didn’t make any connection with the absurdity of a talking goat, clearly having forgotten his own entirely absurd circumstances.

Dave courteously saw them onto the main road, savoring the extra fortune these nobles had brought him from the skies, then happily turned back home, soon forgetting about the orchard next door and the rebellious maid’s story from Thorn Manor.

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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 42

Mrs. Milou always got up early. As a diligent housewife, she had too much to do—light the fire, sweep the floor, feed the chickens, wake up the entire family, cook a big pot of steaming oatmeal, and after breakfast, send her husband and children to work in the fields. Then she would head to the well to draw water and bring it back home—only then would her day truly begin.

But today, her routine faced a minor disruption.

“Sir, I’m not sure…” she said nervously. She glanced at the fuzzy rabbit head of the other and quickly lowered her gaze.

Good heavens, how could a rabbit’s head be on a human body? Could this be the demons the priest spoke of? But everyone says devils don’t exist, and the stranger seems very polite…

“We didn’t mean to disturb. We just accidentally fell into the river while traveling overnight, and most of our luggage was washed away, but the kind God Oelde still looked after us, leaving us with a little bit of pocket money. I hope this is enough to buy a jug of milk and a loaf of bread from such a kind-hearted lady as yourself.”

Hearing the revered name of Oelde, the God of War, Mrs. Milou immediately calmed down, as it was the god her family worshiped.

Anyone who could invoke and pray to such a god couldn’t be evil, so perhaps this rabbit-headed man was under some kind of curse… She didn’t immediately open the garden gate, but politely asked the two gentlemen to wait a moment and then turned to wake her husband.

The Duke, standing silently behind the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, slowly asked, “How do you know their family worships the God of War?”

He admitted it was a clever trick. In the countryside, where basic education was rare, devotion to gods was almost blind, and indeed, this was the fastest way to gain trust.

“There was a wooden axe symbolizing the God of War in the mill last night. Sharing the same faith usually attracts the surrounding ants like a piece of candy, and neither locusts nor earthworms would come near. The village isn’t far from the manor, so it’s likely the same faith. I just took a small bet.”

And the bet paid off. The smug, rabbit-headed shopkeeper winked at the Duke, who disliked interacting with strangers.

Dwight almost lost his gentlemanly composure with a roll of his eyes.

“Dave! Dave!” Mrs. Milou said. “There are two outsiders at our yard wanting to come in for a rest.”

Dave, a red-haired man with a thick beard, got out of bed upon hearing this and put on his short coat. “Who are they? Do they carry weapons?”

“No weapons, and no horses. They said they fell into the river last night, and their luggage was washed away.” Mrs. Milou followed behind her husband. “They are dressed neatly and very polite gentlemen.”

The children were still asleep. Mrs. Milou quietly mentioned to her husband about the man with the rabbit head.

“Those who worship the God of War are forthright people. That poor man must be under some curse. Don’t make a big deal out of it and lose decorum,” Dave advised his wife.

Dave, who had once been a carpentry apprentice in the city, was more worldly than Mrs. Milou. Reassured by his words, she gathered her skirt and welcomed the two men inside. Only then did the couple get a clear look at their visitors—

Despite her husband’s reminder, Mrs. Milou couldn’t help but gasp. Not because of the rabbit head, but because the gentleman who followed him inside was so exquisitely handsome, she had never seen anyone so good-looking—almost unreal! The visitor’s features, demeanor, and presence seemed to strike a tangible impact, not just on Mrs. Milou, but Dave was also stunned.

Dwight glanced coldly at the dazed couple.

“This is my Lord, Xavier, from Syriacochi,” Charlie hurried to introduce before Dwight reacted.

His Lordship—a nobleman! No, of course, he must be a noble, for how else could one possess such looks and bearings? Dave, the head of the household, was the first to recover, immediately nudging his wife, no longer daring to look directly at the visitors, bowing as he invited them to sit, and hastily wiping the most formal chairs in the house.

Honestly, Dave, nearly a carpenter, was considered quite capable and well-off in the village, and the furniture was the most respectable in the area, but now, in the presence of such distinguished guests, everything seemed so modest. The couple suddenly felt anxious, and the unusual rabbit head of the other gentleman was momentarily forgotten.

Fortunately, the gentleman was very gracious, not minding their rudeness. Dave served the best apple cider and bread they had, and Mrs. Milou quietly woke the children and unusually allowed them to have some coarse bread to send them out.

“We set off from Syriacochi intending to visit relatives in the Holy City of Franly, but our guide led us astray, and we encountered an accident. Fortunately, the God of War is merciful to His lost followers, guiding us to follow the river downstream, and indeed, we encountered this kind and prosperous village. What is the name of this village?” Charlie asked.

“Your Lordship, this is Horn Village, fifty miles south of Ropappas City,” Dave carefully said. “I once heard from a merchant in the city that it takes five days to ride the fastest horse from Ropappas to the Royal City, and ten to fifteen days by carriage.”

He felt the noble lord surely wanted to return as soon as possible.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently, “We need to buy servants and a carriage… Perhaps there is a workshop in the village that sells carriages?”

Dave shook his head. “Your Lordship, carriages are for the gentry. People in Horn Village don’t have that luxury. We make what we need in the village, and what we can’t make, we buy in the city.”

The shopkeeper showed a fittingly troubled expression. “Fifty miles isn’t a short distance for those weary in body and mind. I can barely manage, but my master absolutely cannot endure another such journey. Perhaps we could buy two horses?”

Dave found himself even more troubled.

Compared to private estates and manors, although Horn Village was relatively autonomous under administrative governance, it also faced heavy taxes. No household could afford to use horses for work.

They had donkeys, but even if they were willing to sell, a noble lord couldn’t possibly travel on a donkey…

As Mrs. Milou came in with a plate of fried eggs and heard this, she hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “Then, how about buying from Thorn Manor? That lord is very wealthy…”

Dave nodded. “There’s a manor over the hill. The lord of that manor is wealthy, and it’s said that he has dozens of fine horses in his stables. He would surely be willing to extend his hand to Your Lordship.”

Charlie noted that Dave referred to the manor’s owner as “Lord”.

“Does the manor owner not have a title?” Charlie asked casually.

“Thorn Manor was originally the property of a Viscount from Syriacochi, but after he fell into hardship, it was bought by the current lord. The manor would certainly be eager to assist such an esteemed person,” Dave said. “That was just five years ago. The manor doesn’t really interact much with the surrounding towns. We’re the nearest village to them, and our relationship is neither close nor distant, but the people in their village are quite decent.”

Mrs. Milou and Dave clearly weren’t in a social class that had direct access to the lord of the manor, and after racking their brains, they could say no more about Thorn Manor. They left apologetically, rubbing their hands and leaving the brightest living room for their guests to “enjoy” their food.

Mokwen was a typical inland kingdom, and small villages like Horn Village still used crude salt with a backward processing method, which itself carried a harsh taste. Mrs. Milou, probably fearing that she might neglect her distinguished guests, added quite a bit more, making the fried eggs both salty and bitter. Even the Duke, who had become accustomed to camping outdoors, found it hard to swallow, whereas the rabbit-headed shopkeeper seemed to enjoy everything and showed no signs of last night’s distress.

“So, are we going back to the manor where the carriages are?” the Duke purposely asked him. “That’s the only place with a carriage.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “Did you throw everything I said last night into the garden? We—absolutely—cannot—get close—to the Lamp Bearers. Although I don’t know what the background of the lord of Thorn Manor is, anyone associated with the Lamp Bearers cannot be good. Hmm, this explains the actions of dragging bodies into the forest to bury at midnight and the tales of maids disappearing like fairy tales. That manor must be exploring some sort of clandestine ritual… But usually, those fond of dark magic don’t have the means or the ability to contact the Lamp Bearers. Only groups with sufficient power and authority can.”

“What does the appearance of the Lamp Bearers imply?” the Duke pressed.

Judging from the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s demeanor, he sensed that these ominous beings were a taboo, but the shopkeeper clung tightly to his silence.

This only piqued his curiosity more.

“In the noble circles of Pennigra, there are followers of the God of Darkness, but the Dwight family has never heard of the Lamp Bearers from them.” Dwight sat in the cluttered little farmhouse, yet his demeanor was still as if he were sitting in a magnificent hall. “If they are not what you call ‘groups with sufficient power and authority’, then it must be the Black Gold Families. After centuries of mutual containment and attrition, their territories have waxed and waned. Could someone be attempting to reshuffle powers using the strength of a dark god? If Thorn Manor is backed by one of the Black Gold Families, then who could it be?”

The Duke of Brandenburg turned his face towards the window. The sunlight gently dusted his nose with gold, but his profile remained sharply cold. “Is it the Foxs, who master passion and intelligence? Or the Lions, who deal in forbidden drugs and violence? Or perhaps the Monkeys who oversee the underground trade, or the irrational gamblers, the Wolfs?”

Mrs. Milou had planted some insect-repelling herbs under the window. Their fragrance slightly diluted the smell of the fried eggs in the room.

The young Duke unconsciously tapped on the wooden table contemplatively. “These monstrous creatures in the sewers depend on each other yet resist one another. It’s very likely that any one of them might resort to underhanded tactics.”

Charlie drank the last of his wine, not joining the conversation.

These names, like summoning demons in any city’s underbelly, spoken by the Duke in a careless, half-mocking tone, suddenly gave him a sense of absurd unreality.

Monstrous creatures… Indeed, he thought the description couldn’t be more apt.

“Whoever it is, we have no need to get involved with them,” he pointed out calmly. “The best thing now is to find Columbus and then stay away from these suspicious people and events. It’s unwise to invite complications at any time.”

The Duke’s train of thought was interrupted, and he glanced at him with displeasure, but he inwardly admitted the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s point was valid.

If they were in Lemema, he had wealth and power at his disposal and could track down anything that interested him—even the color of the Emperor’s underwear—of course, a respectable nobleman would never do such a thing.

But on the vulnerable continent of Doran, excessive curiosity could very well bring deadly trouble.

“Ridiculous. Why would we get involved with them?” The Duke snorted. “Let that peasant woman clean my cloak, and then we’ll have a decent dinner. Shivers should be able to find us by the markers soon. As for that tin soldier, if folding hands in prayer and your little magic tricks for finding people work, his safety won’t be a problem. We’ll be able to leave here quietly soon enough.”

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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 41

“What is that?” Shivers squinted, straining to see more clearly. “Is that a light?”

Eugene, like a deflated balloon, lay lifelessly at his feet, barely looking up. “Where do you see light? I only see the moon.”

“Get up,” Shivers said unsympathetically, half-pulling him to his feet. “You’re too weak. Even the youngest squire in my team is stronger than you.”

Eugene was dissatisfied. “After choking nearly to death and walking most of the night, it’s amazing I can still breathe—is it a crime to be an ordinary person?”

“Stop complaining. We need to find them quickly.” Shivers tried to recognize the surroundings, looking for any signs left by the Duke, but it was too dark to see any trace on the trees and rocks.

This made the Knight Commander a bit anxious. Although the Duke himself wasn’t weak in combat, he always felt uneasy not having him in sight—after all, his master wasn’t someone who had to personally deal with every little trouble. All he could do now was pray that at least Charlie was with the Duke, looking out for each other. Thinking of this, he exhaled roughly, pushing Eugene a bit rudely, urging him to walk towards the faint light in the distance.

In most cases, Shivers was willing to be a gentleman, but if the other party was a lazy pig who wouldn’t move without a whip, he had no choice but to adopt the stern attitude he used to train new knights.

“Can’t we walk when it’s light?” Eugene reluctantly dragged his feet. The fatigue from escaping death in the water made him just want to close his eyes and sleep.

“No. We can’t be separated for too long,” Shivers said succinctly. “In the dark, people instinctively move towards the light, and it will be hard to determine that direction once it’s light.”

It took a while for Eugene to realize what the Knight Commander was saying, and he perked up a bit. “Is it really a light?”

He immediately thought of the farmhouses in the fields, with their heavy wooden doors blocking the cold wind outside, warm gas lamps inside, the smell of pine burning in the fireplace, and the scent of roasted chicken from dinner. A plump hostess would kindly offer the spot nearest to the fireplace to lost travelers, diligently serving bread and hot milk… Suddenly, he felt strength return to his legs.

Shivers, frowning, hurried him along without an immediate response. Initially, it was a flickering, very small light point, moving quite fast, probably a carriage lamp. Later, it became a fixed patch of light, likely stopped at a tavern or inn—the people who had already gone to bed lit lamps had rekindled the stove for the arriving carriage, making the light bright enough that even Eugene could see. This was a reasonable assumption, but for some reason, he felt a vague unease, like walking in a pitch-dark sewer, sensing creatures lurking in the dark—although invisible, that evil aura heightened his entire body’s defensive instincts to the extreme.

He worried about the Duke facing unpleasant malice head-on. It was his duty to stand guard with his sword before danger approached, but at the moment, he…

“They should be fine,” Eugene suddenly muttered.

Shivers turned to look at him.

“Your Lord, when he fights, he’s ruthlessly unlike a person. Over in the Green Woods, he broke a horse trader’s nose with a single cane strike, and that trader was a former soldier,” Eugene said. “So, no matter his appearance… Nobody dares underestimate him.”

Eugene considered himself a rakish scoundrel, and in a different setting, although he wouldn’t act disrespectfully in the presence of a crowd of nobles, he would still make jokes about Dwight in private. But after a fight on the edge of the Green Woods, to be honest, Eugene still didn’t dare to look directly at this Duke, who, despite his gentle appearance, had fists much harder than his own.

Shivers paused, realizing that the other seemed to sense his anxiety and was trying to reassure him, and suddenly smiled.

“You’re right. The Duke is strong.” The Knight Commander’s blond hair, dried by the wind, shone under the moonlight.

Eugene just breathed a sigh of relief when his collar was yanked again.

“But letting the master worry is also a knight’s dereliction of duty.” Shivers’s bright smile disappeared in an instant. “We must reach his side to support him as soon as possible, so move your lazy ass. We can’t let them touch him.”

“‘Them’?” Noticing Shivers’ word choice, Eugene was puzzled. In this wilderness, he didn’t think there were any creatures other than field mice and owls.

“I don’t know, but my gut tells me, those guys behind the lights, they’re not…” Shivers adjusted his wording carefully, cautiously saying, “Humans. At least not ordinary humans.”

“What do you mean they’re not human?”

Two figures quickly slid down the slope. The dew on the grass tips before dawn wetted their hems.

The invisibility potion didn’t make them truly invisible, but after drinking it, their scent completely merged with the surrounding environment, making them undetectable even to trained hunting dogs, as long as they remained hidden.

Charlie didn’t look back the whole way. Dwight felt that even the rabbit fur on his face was stiffly bristled, the whole person was like a perpetually alert giant hedgehog.

“They’re not natural creations. They’re the poisonous weeds that sprout at the feet of demons—the incarnations of dry bones in graves, immortal and evil creatures.” His voice, which was normally comforting and effortless, was now cold and hard, as if the words themselves could collide with a crisp clatter. “Extremely ominous, not to be tested, looked at, or touched.”

Dwight watched his firm back, feeling a strange sensation.

It was as if a delicate and novel but lifeless ornament that had been hanging on the wall suddenly gained a bit of warmth, sparking a bit of interest to look more closely.

‘He’s scared,’ Dwight thought.

The Duke, like a child who had discovered a new toy, was no longer particularly concerned about the other’s impolite act of forcing him to drink the strange potion. Instead, he observed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s back under the dim light of the North Star.

“So, they’re demons?” The Duke drawled. In this era when gods had fallen and demons had vanished, there still existed evil beings, neither human nor ghost. Sometimes these were remnants of the power left by demons who once roamed the land, and sometimes they were the nefarious products of black magic or alchemy, existing in various forms, but they could be destroyed by the church and mages. They were collectively known as demons.

They stopped only when they were as far away from the manor as possible.

“Strictly speaking, they’re not demons, as holy water and magic have little direct effect on them,” Charlie said, panting. It was just beginning to dawn, but he still pulled out a palm-sized pocket lighter from his coat pocket, briefly used the light to check the surroundings, then snapped it shut.

“They are ‘Lamp Bearers’,” he said in a whisper, finding a relatively flat piece of ground to sit. “No one knows where they come from or how long they have existed. They are immortal spirits that exist only for an ancient mission and cannot be commanded by outsiders.”

“Lamp Bearers… I remember similar beings in the scriptures of Legolas, the God of Darkness” Dwight said slowly. “I once visited their Starry Cathedral when I was a child. Inside, the murals depicted cloaked figures holding candlesticks, bowing as they led the way for the gods, named Chimichus, which in ancient Guchira language means ‘Gravedigger’.”

The sky gradually tinted crimson, and the air became moist and fresh.

Charlie gradually regained his composure, tipping the brim of his hat at Dwight. “Nowadays, people’s main worship has shifted from the three great gods of Darkness, Light, and Life to the gods of Sky, Earth, Sea, as well as War, Harvest, and Wealth. The once mighty three main gods have become historical symbols over time, greater in symbolic than actual significance, and even scholars studying these beliefs are no longer active. That you could accurately identify Chimichus is truly indicative of your extensive knowledge.”

“The Church’s definition of Chimichus does indeed have similarities with the Lamp Bearers. It might be a symbol rewritten from the Lamp Bearers after historical distortions. On the surface, ‘lamp bearing’ and ‘grave digging’ indeed convey the same idea—’searching’, but deeper aspects have not been unearthed or expressed… In the teachings of the God of Darkness, Chimichus exists to light the way for the gods, but the Lamp Bearers aren’t actually lighting the way for their masters. They carry the light, passing through forests, swamps, and busy streets, and following their steps, one can find a certain hidden and forbidden existence.”

He stopped there, shutting his mouth. Dwight, clearly unsatisfied, pressed, “What existence?”

Charlie made a strange expression between a smile and a frown, seemingly trying to lighten the serious atmosphere, but failed. “It’s taboo. Those who know wouldn’t easily disclose it. Everything about the Lamp Bearers is something I’ve deduced from appearances, which may not be accurate.”

Seeing Dwight’s face fall, he added, “But one thing I am sure of is that the ‘Lamp Bearers’ are as ominous as a plague. They have no emotions or logic, nor do they attack humans, but once humans come into contact with them, only regrettable outcomes follow. The wise course is to stay as far away from them as possible before the curse takes effect.”

Dwight looked at him with a half-smile, his customary mocking expression clearly conveying, “I know you’re not telling the whole truth”. But one of the old nobility’s virtues was being very perceptive, usually not indulging in unsightly prying when the other party was unwilling.

Besides, the shopkeeper had thick skin even before he turned into a rabbit-headed man, and now with an extra layer of fur, he cared even less, nonchalantly saying, “So it’s best we don’t go near that manor. The Lord of that manor’s problems are worse than we thought.”

“Let’s go downstream along the river. There should be more villages along it to buy a carriage… or a fine horse. Shivers will catch up,” Dwight said with disgust as he glanced at his coat, smeared with mud and grass. As the daylight grew brighter, he became increasingly intolerant of his own disheveled appearance.

Charlie was somewhat surprised by the Duke’s agreeableness, as it was usually the case that “if Rabbit Head dislikes something, he has to try doing it”. However, a night of disarray must have been quite unbearable for the Duke of Brandenburg, whose need for a hot bath and clean sheets surpassed his usual penchant for troubling Charlie.

Once the Duke recovered, he would probably continue to pursue the matter of the Lamp Bearers, Charlie thought, his head buzzing. Earlier, he had anticipated that they might encounter traces of the Lamp Bearers on the continent of Doran, but he didn’t expect to nearly face them so soon. It was the worst-case scenario—just seeing them from afar still left him with the shudder of a venomous reptile slithering over his spine, a threat to his life lingering long after.

They must find Columbus as soon as possible and leave this dangerous area. If necessary, he could summon Darby Belly Fish again… With this thought, Charlie turned to look deeply in the direction of the manor, pressed the brim of his top hat, and hurriedly followed the Duke, stepping on the dew, along the river.

---

The author has something to say:

Charlie’s words and actions are somewhat contradictory, but it’s not a bug. He just isn’t telling the whole truth.

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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 40

“What did you put in the tea?” Dwight tightened his finally dried cloak. His light golden hair cast a faint halo under the moonlight, making his expressionless face appear particularly indifferent.

“Just a bit of strong liquor to warm the body,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said casually. “It has a good sedative effect, perfect for Tom tired from crying.”

Behind them, the light leaking from the mill was dim, and the sleeping Tom was oblivious, curled up beside the stove, trying to soak up some warmth before the fire went out completely.

The two quietly crossed the silent village, whispering their thoughts to each other.

“Only the darkest of black magic would use living sacrifices,” Charlie analyzed. “Tom said we’re at least 140 miles from Syriacochi, far from the central nobility’s power. There might be a few small towns nearby, so it’s possible to deceive country girls looking for work. The manor is highly autonomous, so there haven’t been any slip-ups…”

Unlike the relatively stable situation in Pennigra, the continent of Doran had been plagued by wars due to fragmented kingdoms, breeding seeds of misfortune beyond death and poverty—it was also a breeding ground for illegal faiths. During his stay in Mokwen’s Royal City, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper noticed that apart from the widespread Church of Light, the spiritual beliefs among the citizens were quite mixed, including some sects deemed by those in power as worshiping evil gods, which followers called the New Faith. In less affluent and stable areas, these misleading beliefs were a lifeline for the common folk.

“Is the lord of this manor a follower of the New Faith?” Dwight said wearily. “Either way, it’s none of our business.”

Rather than peculiar cases of missing women, he was more concerned about meeting up with his Knight Commander. The Duke was confident in his combat and survival skills, but that didn’t mean he liked to handle everything personally, especially now, with only a clumsy Rabbit Head by his side.

This wasn’t to say that Charlie was an unqualified companion. On the contrary, he was accustomed to treating everyone around him with meticulous care. Even without servants, the shopkeeper could manage the Duke from head to toe under limited conditions. But Charlie and the Knight Commander were fundamentally different; Shivers was wholeheartedly dedicated to his master, but this Rabbit Head—Dwight still couldn’t fully see through him. His rabbit brain seemed like a mask, hiding something deep beneath his demeanor.

This was a trait all nobles disliked. They preferred simple-minded fools who were easy to manipulate and control, like the sobbing Tom…

“The guys in the woods mentioned a witch,” Charlie said frankly, unaware of Dwight’s complex thoughts. “We’re close to Elena’s territory, and witches are territorial. If Elena is still alive, she likely wouldn’t allow another of her kind on her doorstep.”

“Do you think those bodies are related to Elena?” Dwight frowned. “If so, she’s probably not the little schoolgirl you knew—”

The Duke paused, then added in a mockingly sweet tone, “Anymore.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tipped his hat and smiled at the Duke. “Your Grace, I understand the danger she poses. Right now, we’re on our own, and whether it’s Elena or not, confronting a witch head-on is unwise, but a side investigation could yield useful information and help us reconnect with our lost companions.”

The Duke looked at him with a “go ahead, I’m listening” expression on his face.

“First rule of getting lost: don’t wander off. Stay where you are and wait for the lord to return and find you.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper winked. “So before we reunite with everyone, it’s best not to stray more than 15 miles from the point where we got separated…”

“Cut the crap. You just want to know the truth about that mansion,” Dwight said expressionlessly. Growing up in a superior family environment didn’t make the Duke a sheltered flower. On the contrary, learning how to survive in dangerous or extreme conditions was a mandatory part of the Dwight family curriculum—only for heirs.

As far as family succession was concerned, aside from natural changes, the presence of the head of the family was always the primary priority. After determining the Knight Commander was lost, the Duke had already left codes only a Dwight family knight could decipher, and if Shivers wasn’t too far off, he would eventually find his way.

“Right,” Charlie said cheerfully. “My intuition tells me this information will be useful.”

The Duke crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Alright, assuming your intuition is correct, how do we “investigate sideways”? No matter if it’s a witch or a whore, they won’t be unprotected for us to just spy on.”

A quarter of an hour later, under the cover of the last of the night and roadside bushes, the two quietly ascended a hillside. The mansion, unlit, sat like a quiet, black beast perched halfway up the hill, silently and dangerously watching everything that approached.

Charlie didn’t choose the main road. The manor owner usually had a security system set up far from the mansion’s outer perimeter, and he didn’t want to risk it.

When they stopped a distance from the servant quarters and stables around the mansion, they took a very thin notebook from their coats. His fingers were long and nimble, almost not needing illumination to quickly fold a beautiful little bird.

“A friend and I once specialized in studying the transformations of magical formations in Monterey. By making slight adjustments to the basic formula, there’s a good chance of obtaining additional benefits… I call this transformation formula the ‘Gray Sentinel’,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said proudly, pulling out a dry-ink pen and quickly drawing a magical formation on the wings of a small bird. “It doesn’t require borrowing or converting life, has no attack capability, but possesses a very sensitive warning mechanism, and can explore within a limited range on behalf of its master. My friend likes to use human-shaped paper figures for the operation, but I think small animal forms are fuller.”

Dwight watched his movements without speaking. Although the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had never shown any extraordinary magical talent, his thinking pattern and theoretical application in magic were undoubtedly exceptional. Dwight had seen many great mages who stubbornly believed magic was a divine gift, and any research or experimentation born of skepticism was a blasphemy against the gods. If those old coots saw Rabbit Head so casually altering magical formations, even if not for any critical purposes, it would be enough to raise their blood pressure and make them scream heresy…

Charlie didn’t notice the Duke’s slight distraction. As he finished the last stroke, the paper bird immediately fluttered its wings, lively in his palm.

“Your name is,” Charlie glanced at the bushes, “‘Berry’. I need you to go into that mansion above for me and…”

Before he could finish, the little bird suddenly trembled nervously, as if an invisible hurricane was brewing in Charlie’s palm—next second, its sharp beak opened wide, and a burst of flame shot out from the tips of its wings, engulfing the half-palm-sized bird almost instantly.

“What does this mean?” Dwight frowned. “Is self-immolation part of the magic too?”

Charlie stared at the little ash left in his palm for half a second, then suddenly grabbed Dwight and ran back the way they came. His top hat dangerously wobbled as he ran, but Charlie ignored it, clutching Dwight’s wrist tightly and running as if the mansion would explode and swallow them at any moment.

Without needing an explanation, Dwight also immediately realized something was wrong. He wanted to look back to see what had happened, but Charlie, holding him tightly, suddenly made a sharp turn and pulled him into a small hollow, then forcefully suppressed his heavy breathing.

The Duke followed his gaze down to the foothill. The sky before dawn was still dark, the creatures on the farm were all asleep, and it seemed no different from before. But on the distant road, several faint lights flickered like will-o’-wisps.

Although dim, the lights moved quickly, growing larger in just a few breaths. By the time the two were hiding behind a large stone covered with wet, slippery moss, the sharp-eyed Duke could make out that these were wind lamps swaying with the jolting of a carriage.

It was still not daylight. Who would visit this manor before dawn? Was it the owner returning? Dwight withdrew his gaze and looked at Charlie. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, unusually out of breath, was taking out several crystal vials of different sizes and shapes from his coat. By the moonlight, some bottles contained strangely colored liquids, while others clearly held man-made crystals. Whether due to the cold night or nervousness, his fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly, but he skillfully poured the contents of the vials into a large-bellied bottle. In the eerily quiet surroundings, the clinking of the vials was particularly clear. Charlie quickly screwed on the cap of the large bottle and peeked out.

The carriage was nearing the foothill. “I’ll explain later—” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said quickly, shaking the large bottle vigorously, then unscrewing the cap and handing it to the Duke.

“Take a sip, just a small one,” he urged. “Quick.”

“Wait… What is this?” Dwight almost instinctively resisted. As Duke Dwight, he would never drink an unknown substance under such mysterious circumstances.

“It’s an invisibility potion.” The shopkeeper became more frantic, almost pressing the bottle to the Duke’s lips. “You don’t understand. I—we can’t be seen. They must not find us.”

“They” were undoubtedly the sudden appearance of the carriage. But it was just a carriage—why was Charlie acting as if he suddenly faced a great enemy? From such a distance, he couldn’t possibly know who was sitting in the carriage, and yet the usually composed Charlie was nervous. This sudden change was prompted by… the paper bird’s warning? Why the warning? They were from Pennigra. What force on the continent of Doran could pose a threat to them?

Dwight’s light-colored eyes narrowed slightly as he took the vial but didn’t drink immediately.

“Who’s in the carriage?”

His fingers touched the shopkeeper’s, which were as cold as ice in the middle of a winter river.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper withdrew his hand and said in a low, sigh-like tone, “They are the ‘Lamp Bearers’.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 39

Dwight made a decision in just three seconds—to follow those people.

Charlie seemed to have an understanding with him, and without further communication, the two quietly trailed the creaking donkey cart, silently moving out of the forest.

The cart went straight through a vineyard and headed towards a sparsely lit mansion on the hillside, with a moderately sized estate resting quietly at the foot of the hill in the silent night.

“As long as there are people, Shivers will be able to find the right direction.” The Duke took off his half-dried cloak in disgust and was instinctively about to fling it away—fortunately, his reason reminded him that he wasn’t in Brandenburg, where clothes were plentiful. At the rate he was discarding clothes, he’d be naked within a week.

So, he reluctantly carried it in his hand, with a look of distaste.

“The scent of the baked goods could also guide the lost Eugene.” Charlie, pinching his also damp hat, smiled. “Let’s first think about ourselves, Your Grace. I see a mill ahead.”

In a place like the Doran continent, where wars were frequent, any lord capable of claiming land would try to form a self-sufficient, closed loop on his estate, with the basics: a farmhouse, winery, mill, forest, pasture, bakery, and even a church and court. They easily found the bakery near the mill, along with an oven that still had embers.

Dwight had seen Charlie’s house in Maplewood. Although not grand and luxurious, it was definitely warm and comfortable. From the complete set of brass-handled handmade porcelain tea sets in his living room, one could tell that this man wasn’t luxurious, but he definitely had refined demands for life’s details. Even during travel, when dining under the sky, he maintained tidiness and dignity. From his usual demeanor, announcing to anyone that he was actually a noble wouldn’t surprise anyone.

So when he expertly rekindled the fire, filled a large black iron kettle with water to sit on the fire, and used a few sticks to set up a makeshift clothes rack to dry their clothes, the Duke was somewhat surprised. Not that he was doing these things, but at how naturally and comfortably he moved while doing them, as if he was a child who had grown up rolling in the ashes by the stove—this rabbit-headed shopkeeper even knew without looking that the sugar jar on the wall shelf contained damp, impure coarse sugar while the fine sugar was secretly wrapped in paper and hung from the ceiling beam!

Charlie misunderstood the Duke’s expression, checking the boiling water as he explained, “The tea here is just the scraps left over after offering to the lord, you might not be used to it. It’s better with a bit of sugar.”

Dwight was silent for a moment. “How could there be tea leaves in a farmhouse bakery?” Even just scraps were beyond what ordinary peasants could afford.

The shopkeeper smiled. “It’s not for the serfs, but to serve the tax collectors or priests and occasionally the lords passing through—actually, just the more respectable servants in the mansion. Although not in large quantities, a farm will definitely have some.”

He casually took a cup, rinsed it with hot water, poured the precious tea into it, and handed it to the Duke. Dwight frowned. Although the fire wasn’t very bright, it was enough for him to see that the filthy cup was also covered in a layer of hard, weathered grime.

“We just climbed out of the river and have been in the cold wind for a long time. You must drink this.” The shopkeeper didn’t need to look up to feel the Duke’s reluctance. “Otherwise, by this time tomorrow, we’ll both be sick.”

Dwight gave him a look.

“This is a private estate. Do you think the ‘witch’ mentioned by those men has something to do with Elena?” he asked.

“Very likely.” Perhaps too exhausted to spar with Dwight as usual, Charlie was unusually responsive. “Although I don’t know the speed of the Darby Belly Fish, based on the time, even if we left the Mokwen borders, we wouldn’t be very far. In this area, the first person that comes to mind when you say ‘witch’ is Elena.”

“Are those bodies related to her? Is this her study of black magic?” Dwight’s expression turned serious.

“Witch” was a general term, but there were distinctions based on the source of their power.

From what’s known about witches on the mainland, their power sources could be broadly categorized into several types: first, those who gained recognition through systematic study and control of power, similar to most mages—though the last known instance was 300 years ago, making these “light” witches extremely rare; second, those who gained power through inheritance, such as learning from a teacher through apprenticeship, with power depending on the depth of the previous teacher and their own advancements; third, those who trade with spirits and demons, engaging in black magic—this was what made people extremely taboo and fearful.

In this age where miracles had long ceased, angels, demons, and powerful races like phoenixes and dragons that could easily affect the mainland’s politics disappeared centuries ago. Only the elves, a long-lived race, remained, but even their powers were significantly reduced after the war between gods and demons, with the elven king falling from his semi-divine throne into a deep slumber. This allowed humans to rise and grow, elevating the status of mages, who were once mere pawns in the war between gods and demons. Conversely, in a continent without demons, black magic that drew power from bones and living beings was now the most evil known power, which was why the term “witch” was so infamously notorious, despised, and feared along with necromancers.

“When I left Doran, Elena’s magic was still inherited from Lady Eve, although that’s hardly better than making deals with demons.”

The source of magical power was absolutely fair. Besides self-practice, any power gained through external means was unreliable, whether inherited, gifted, or seized. What seemed like a shortcut was actually full of invisible thorns, silently scraping away all flesh and soul—this was the introduction in all continental magic textbooks. Unfortunately, those who made their mark in the field of magic were still more often the latter than the former.

Perhaps getting something for nothing was an eternal human trait, and Elena was no exception.

For various reasons, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper rarely reminisced about the past, and even he didn’t realize that his expression was now more solemn than usual.

Dwight noticed this and discreetly placed the cup aside. “That was a long time ago.”

“You’re right,” Charlie admitted. “If the bodies in the forest are indeed related to her, then I can only regretfully say that she has taken another wrong step on her path to power.”

“This estate is downstream,” the Duke slowly said. “Whether it’s Shivers and Eugene, along with that noisy toy, they would head towards where people gather.” This meant that the likelihood of everyone meeting up at this estate was currently the highest.

“So we…” Charlie began but suddenly paused, his long ears twitching.

He heard some unusual noises outside.

“There’s a sheep pen next door,” he said. “There was really no one there when we came, right?”

Dwight didn’t respond. In the pitch-black night, did the rabbit-head expect him to grope into the sheep pen to check if someone was hiding inside? If it were in Lemena, he wouldn’t even allow the stinking goats near his carriage.

Charlie stood up, quietly walked to the door, and silently waited for a moment.

Outside, it was deathly quiet. Only the sound of the wind occasionally gushed through the door crack. The Duke sat motionlessly, watching his actions. The shopkeeper touched the door handle, took a deep breath, and abruptly pulled the door open!

A young man with tousled hair stumbled in as the door opened. He seemed to have been lying flat against the door. The sudden opening caused him to lose his balance, nearly crashing to the ground.

Dwight’s eyes dropped to his right hand, which rested silently on the cane beside him by the stove, the emerald on its tip glittering opulently in the firelight.

The shopkeeper seemed not to notice the Duke’s action. He bent down, hands on his knees, his voice tinged with surprise. “Oh my, are you alright, sir? I didn’t expect anyone to be outside.”

The man looked up, clearly startled. “A-a-a rabbit?”

“I’m not a rabbit,” the shopkeeper said seriously. “My name is Charlie.”

“I… I’m Tom,” the man replied instinctively, still perplexed.

From any angle, he looked like a rabbit. But why would a rabbit be talking? And why would it be dressed so finely and wearing a top hat?

Tom thought he might be dreaming. But the dreamlike scenario continued.

Sitting by the fireplace was… an unbelievable gentleman. Just one glance made Tom feel as if his breath was being stolen by a visage seemingly not of this world. Tom’s limited vocabulary couldn’t describe such beauty. He instinctively bowed his head, unable to look any longer.

Whatever the gentleman’s status, it wasn’t something he could confront openly.

The Duke’s hand moved away from the cane. He had realized this man was just a common farmer. Even if he didn’t act, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could easily overpower him.

“Tom, you look very cold,” Charlie said kindly, pressing a cup of hot tea into his hands.

The wind outside was strong, and the warmth of the tea seemed to revive Tom a bit. He whispered, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were here.”

He had nowhere to go and had seen light from the mill, so he had come over.

Probably because the shopkeeper and the Duke were behaving too dominantly, Tom, who had never left the estate, didn’t sense anything suspicious about them. Instead, Charlie smiled congenially and said, “Tom, now is not a good time to be out.”

His voice was attractive and slightly deep, but the buoyant tone made him sound more vivacious than the typical posturing nobleman, easily disarming people.

Though the Duke’s assessment was, “Using second-rate tricks to beguile the heart.” But in reality, Charlie indeed had an incredible charm. Those who talked with him usually quickly overlooked his unusual, furry rabbit-head, drawn in by the content of his words.

The clearly inexperienced Tom didn’t even have time to voice his suspicions like “Who are you” or “Why are you in our village’s mill” and answered very honestly, “Because I had a fight with my father, I ran out of the house. It was too cold at night, and I thought of squeezing in with the animals in the stable for warmth.”

A local. The shopkeeper and the Duke exchanged glances.

“Fighting with family isn’t good,” Charlie said soothingly. “What is it that can’t be discussed?”

Tom looked downcast. “My fiancée Emily was chosen to serve the master. I wanted to sell our family’s donkey to bribe the steward to bring Emily back, but my father disagreed. Actually…”

Everyone disagreed. Tom knelt on the floor, burying his head between his legs. “They don’t understand that if Emily goes, she’ll never come back.”

Everyone was happy that Emily got a respectable job, but only Tom was terrified. His father didn’t understand, and they had a big fight before bed, so he ran away from home…

Though it was really just a “runaway” to the communal mill not far from his house.

Dwight frowned, remembering the donkey cart filled with bodies a few hours earlier and the direction the cart had eventually headed.

It was to the stately mansion up on the hill.

Charlie clearly thought of the same thing.

“Tom, have another sip of hot tea,” he said consolingly. “It’s still long until dawn. We can talk by the stove. Being chosen by the master isn’t a good thing, then? Why do you think Emily won’t come back?”

“Because many girls never come back.” Tom sniffled, fear in his eyes. “I go to the big house twice a week to take care of the donkeys, and I’ve heard old Hank and others say… the mansion often takes in new maids, but they always disappear unnoticed. They say the mansion is haunted, and they say…”

Tom didn’t finish his sentence, but Charlie and Dwight could guess what he left unsaid. Who would casually live in a haunted mansion unless the master of the house was also a ghost? Even if Tom was naive and shortsighted, he wouldn’t directly slander his master, so he simply shut his mouth.

The shopkeeper understood that this wasn’t necessarily because Tom was particularly loyal to the master of the house or wary of them, the two strangers, but rather, peasants like him, who had lived on the estate for generations, almost instinctively feared and deferred to their lord’s authority, especially young people like Tom. Instinct made them dare not speak ill of their master, not even speculatively.

But it was the likes of old Hank, probably employed from outside and quite the sly old fox, who would gossip about the master’s household when out of sight. Tom, with his honest face, even if he heard such talk, wouldn’t dare complain to anyone, allowing him to overhear some unusual things.

Typically, in such a gentry estate, not counting male servants, the main house would have 2–3 cooks, 6–8 general maids, no more than 3 personal maids, and 1 housekeeper, which was standard. If the estate owner held a title, more staff might be added according to the title, but it would generally not exceed 20 people. If the main house took in new maids every season, as old Hank and his peers said, always coming in but never leaving, that was very suspicious.

“According to this consumption, it’s enough to feed three vampires,” was the cynical saying among those old folks. No one knew where those mysteriously disappearing girls went. These physical laborers didn’t even have the privilege to step into the mansion’s garden, only knowing the main house was like a bizarre, insatiable black hole, continually absorbing new girls for work. These things… Only those who worked in the main house long enough would know, while the peasants working at the foot of the estate only cared whether there was enough black bread for the family tomorrow or whether this year’s winter would freeze someone to death.

But Tom knew. Usually, the maids were brought in from outside, but last time, probably due to a shortage, they began recruiting suitable girls from their own estate, offering fairly good wages, and Emily was nominated by her brother at that time. Because Emily was a healthy, unmarried young woman, she was smoothly chosen.

In another context, neither the Duke nor the shopkeeper would pay much attention to such a story. The reason was simple. Though many high-society nobles or wealthy merchants liked to pose as cultured behind closed doors, there were plenty of dirty dealings—especially among some old families proud of their pure bloodlines and unwilling to marry outsiders. Their offspring often had various problems, including a high proportion of idiocy and brutality. If the master of the hilltop mansion was a prone-to-rage tyrant, killing one or two servants in a fit of rage every year wouldn’t be news, and a well-trained steward would silently handle any clues that might attract the attention of the sheriff or the church.

But given the scene they encountered in the woods, even for a tyrant, the loss rate was unusually high, not to mention just for a gentry or nobleman. Old Hank’s sarcasm was apt. This situation was highly unusual.

Tom’s instincts were right. His fiancée was likely never coming back.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 38

Eugene’s dark guess was entirely driven by his survival instinct.

Because he couldn’t swim. If he really got thrown into the water like a fish expelling its young, sinking was the only outcome he could think of.

Fortunately, the Darby Belly Fish didn’t take them on an impromptu gastrointestinal tour. After compressing them to their limits, like dried fish, it suddenly inflated them again and spat them out like bubbles.

But for Eugene, the situation didn’t improve, as the Darby Belly Fish chose to drop its passengers into the water, and it was a very turbulent river.

“Ahhhhhhhhh—ow ow ow ow!” Eugene frantically grabbed the nearest person, who roared back, “Calm down!”

Eugene grabbed Shivers’ beautiful blonde hair as if it were a rope. Shivers was desperate to check on the Duke and wished he could knock Eugene out to end the chaos. But in such circumstances, Eugene displayed remarkable potential, clinging tightly to Shivers, who could usually toss him aside with a punch, and began to drag him down too.

It was unclear why the Darby Belly Fish thought this was an ideal drop-off point. Just as Shivers was nearly drowned by Eugene’s panicked actions, Dwight was also caught off guard by the sudden rapid currents, but he was better off than Shivers, as the shopkeeper next to him wasn’t a panicking liability.

Charlie seemed to have been mentally prepared for the Darby Belly Fish’s lack of consideration. After a brief adjustment, he calmed down and tried to spot the direction of the riverbank in the water. After struggling to swim a few miles, the two barely managed to reach a gentler bay and eventually clambered onto the riverbank. The Duke of Brandenburg nearly rolled his eyes back in exhaustion.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, panting, dragged Dwight ashore and looked up at the night sky. The stars were cold and bright, telling him it was probably after midnight. There was silence in the nearby bushes, and not even the sound of insects could be heard.

“Columbus—and Shivers…” the shopkeeper coughed while fumbling in his soaked coat. “I didn’t manage to grab them in the water.”

“Shivers is a good swimmer,” the Duke said irritably. “The tin soldier can’t drown. That little wretch is the real danger. He grew up inland.”

Charlie suddenly laughed. “You’re worried about Eugene?”

Dwight said, “I’m worried he’ll drag Shivers down with him and drown.”

The shopkeeper shrugged and went back into the river.

“What’s wrong with you?” the Duke exclaimed, astonished, as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper head back into the water.

Charlie seemed to be searching for something in the water. A small halo of light gradually appeared in his hand, looking from behind like he was holding a mini lantern over the water surface, but apart from a sodden piece of wood, nothing else seemed to flow downstream.

Dwight’s cloak was waterproof, but the clothes inside were soaked through after being washed into the river. It was heavy and cold, hanging on his body. He was about to angrily tell the shopkeeper to stop wasting energy trying to fish people out of the river when a cool night breeze brushed past him with an unusual rustle.

The Duke, whose senses were quite sharp, perked up his ears immediately. “?!”

The forest at night was never quiet. By concentrating, one could hear the rustling of rodents foraging, the chirps of crickets, spinnerets, and unknown insects on the leaves, and even the sound of snakes slowly sliding over the grass. But among these subtle sounds, he seemed to hear a discordant scraping noise.

It sounded like the crisp sound of metal or wood colliding—the sound of human-made objects. As he tensed his body to listen again, the noise vanished.

The Duke turned his head, annoyed to find the rabbit-headed shopkeeper still looking around.

“Stop looking,” Dwight whispered.

Charlie was startled, and the light in his hand immediately went out.

Not completely beyond help.

Dwight’s anger slightly subsided, and he gestured to the shopkeeper, who was approaching him again.

Charlie turned his face to listen, his long ears twitching. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It seems I can’t rely on you.” Dwight scoffed. “What’s the use of having such big ears?”

“Ears or not, I’m still human,” the shopkeeper said patiently. To avoid alarming whatever or whoever was in the forest, they spoke in hushed tones, nearly pressing against each other. If someone had seen them under the moonlight and against the backdrop of the river sounds, they would look like lovers eloping in the night, whispering secrets.

Dwight also realized the atmosphere was a bit strange and slightly distanced himself. “Who would be in the forest in the middle of the night?”

Charlie was tempted to crack a joke, “Aren’t we the same?” but he sensed that the Duke was in a foul mood, and joking might lead to a prompt execution right there.

“There are only two kinds of people who like the moonlit night and the forest,” the shopkeeper said seriously as they quietly walked deeper into the forest. “Werewolves and witches. Which do you think it is?”

While this might sound somewhat casual, Dwight knew the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was serious.

In Pennigra, there were almost no wild werewolves left. This difficult-to-control race, prone to losing their sanity, had been semi-exiled since the last century. They were pushed by the allied forces deep into uninhabited areas of the plains, given territories with nominal self-rule but effectively isolated from other races. Charlie couldn’t judge whether this sweeping policy was correct, but it indeed prevented the scenario where physically weaker races became prey to werewolves, providing a relatively stable chip for Pennigra’s non-violent development.

But now they were on the Doran continent, where no powerful federal or national control existed. According to some continent-crossing rangers, some kingdoms on Doran even incorporated werewolves into their armies due to their physical strength and combat prowess, making them part of their competitive drive for imperial power. Whether exiled or enlisted, one thing was indisputable: werewolves are extremely dangerous.

That’s not to say that witches weren’t dangerous. They were often quite mad, but at least they didn’t have the massive bodies, sharp fangs, and claws like wild beasts. Moreover, most legends about witches and forests had a somewhat mischievous aspect… The most common belief was that witches set up magical circles in the forest based on the moon phases and lit bonfires to brew potions and summon demons. Various demons would come to the human world aided by the light of the bonfires, engaging wantonly with the witches. If a lost soul stumbled upon this wicked ritual, they would be drawn in, and by sunrise, the witches and demons would have left, leaving behind only a dried-up crucible, unburned logs, various lizard skins, cat skulls, and the desiccated corpses of the unfortunate passersby.

Being a man himself, Dwight certainly understood what the shopkeeper meant—no matter how terrifying the tale, lust always came first, a common trait among all male creatures. But these two options were only a choice between bad and worse. In their current soaked condition and with only the two of them, even the Duke couldn’t proudly claim, “As a man, of course, I must face the beast and fight for glory until death”—that would be just pretty nonsense.

Nor did it mean he was keen to witness witches and demons getting up to mischief in the pitch-black forest. The voluptuous witches of popular imagination were mostly a product of worldly lust. From the witch incidents he’d seen, long periods of isolation and strange alchemical experiments had made many witches look stranger than the demons themselves. Those who could use magic to maintain their youth and beauty were the well-known grand witches. A witch of that status might be wealthier than a noble with lands, hardly likely to run into a small forest to make bodily sacrifices to lowly demons… Anyone who took such stories seriously was surely a fool.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s hearing wasn’t physiologically weak, but it was the Duke of Brandenburg, often derided for being more sensitive than an elven girl, who could catch the faintest noises in the air, leading them towards the source of the sound. The deeper they went into the forest, the more they felt something was off—dim lights flickered through the sparse and dense tree trunks. They stopped some distance from the light source and listened quietly.

It was definitely not werewolves.

At this distance, any werewolf with their keen sense of smell would have detected them.

As for witches… it seemed not to be the case either. They didn’t smell burning potions. Instead, a faint scent of blood mingled into the air.

“Thieves?” Dwight frowned.

In areas without town jurisdiction and under noble rule, encountering thieves wasn’t unusual, which was also why civilian mobility rates were so low across continents. Travelers and merchant caravans that strayed from major roads could easily become targets for thieves, often meeting untimely ends in foreign lands. The common practice among these highway robbers was to kill for loot and then dispose of the bodies in swamps or throw them off cliffs. The sounds coming from the forest suggested digging, but without voices, it indeed resembled the actions of thieves disposing of bodies by night.

If they were just thieves, there wasn’t much to be afraid of, since the “entry requirements” for this “profession” weren’t high. A starving farmer could take up arms by night. If Eugene hadn’t met Charlie and his group, his life might well have led him to join a band of petty thieves. If they were dealing with that sort, the Duke, handsome and fierce in a fight, thought he could take on five single-handedly.

That said, creating complications wasn’t Dwight’s style. He considered quietly retreating before alerting them, but then noticed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper eagerly craning his neck forward, as if the digging and body-disposing were something worth observing.

What is wrong with this guy? Dwight thought irritably.

Sensing the Duke’s change in mood, Charlie turned around. The meager moonlight filtered through the branches seemed to fall into his large, round eyes.

“Look.” The shopkeeper’s voice was very low. Even so close, the Duke barely caught it.

They moved closer, peering carefully through the branches and bushes.

There were about two or three people, all in dark clothing. If not for a lantern hung on a half-dead hawthorn tree, even an owl would have trouble spotting them. At that moment, they had dug a shallow square pit from a small clearing among the trees, and a skinny figure began dragging something that looked like flour sacks from a donkey cart.

Charlie’s eyelids twitched involuntarily.

The shape and weight were clearly body bags.

One.

Two.

Three…

The lantern swayed in the night wind, causing the scent of blood to grow stronger in the air. Hunkering down behind the bushes, Charlie and Dwight watched their actions, their breathing growing heavy.

The number of bodies far exceeded the level of ordinary thieves. If not for the crude murmurs intermittently mixing with the night wind and the sleazy actions that even the night couldn’t hide, they might have thought they were witnessing a well-trained mercenary group.

But these men were almost within reach of Charlie and Dwight and still completely unaware, probably feeling that nothing but owls roamed the forest at night. They even began chatting as they filled the grave.

“So many again.”

“I need a strong drink when we get back, or I’ll have nightmares.”

“Come on, it’s not your first time…”

“Doesn’t make it any easier. What exactly is the master thinking, believing in that witch’s…”

Witch.

Dwight instinctively moved, glancing at Charlie, but the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was still staring at the group, seemingly unfazed by the content of the conversation.

His companion became anxious. “Shut up!”

He hissed lowly. “How dare you—”

The smaller man paused. “There’s no one else here right now.”

Another skinny man finished covering the last shovelfuls of earth. “I’ve heard she has many eyes and ears. Rats, trees, crows… They all listen to our words.”

“Stop talking,” the smaller man urged hurriedly. “I’m just scared. How many times have we been to this forest? And that old woman, where does she find so many—”

“We’re not allowed to talk about this,” the other man said, trying to keep the peace. “Load up your shovel. We’re heading back now.”

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The author has something to say:

Actually, whether it’s “expelled” or regurgitated, it’s all washed in water anyway.

But it seems like everyone wanted to see it “expelled”. How naughty.

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Kinky Thoughts:

Uh… One way is less gross than the other.

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