Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 18

In other words, Mr. Beard’s clientele, regardless of their gender or class, didn’t overlap with that of the streetwalker downstairs, so there was no conflict of business.

Since ancient times, dark secrets among the nobility were always abounded, but this novel business model still shocked Dwight for a few seconds. He set down his teacup on the coffee table with an expressionless face. “My map isn’t completely accurate when leaving Hilly and entering the borders of Doran. We need to replan our route.”

The Duke of Brandenburg’s tone was all business and very calm, but his ears, unfortunately, turned red. Charlie was certain that the Duke had no idea his ears could betray such a lack of resolve.

Finally, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Dressed in the latest casual shirt rather than skirts, Cici magically looked less like a girl and more like a slender young man in development, resembling an ordinary, wealthy young master.

“Cici, aren’t you traveling with us?” Columbus sat on the arm of the sofa, his painted features looking somewhat dim.

Cici didn’t immediately answer. The shopkeeper touched Columbus’s red hat. “Columbus, our journey might be very dangerous. Doran is very unstable right now, and crossing the border could lead to war at any moment.”

Shivers smiled and remained silent.

Actually, the shopkeeper was being too circumspect. If he had to say it, his homeland of Pennigra, compared to Doran, was completely different worlds. Both continents had a central empire governing them, and the stability of each was entirely dependent on the emperor’s capabilities. Pennigra’s central empire, Constantine, had ruled the entire continent for a century, with a tight grip on power that allowed each kingdom to maintain its own army, but with imperial troops stationed in every major city of sufficient population. Although this strong central control significantly weakened the kingdoms’ powers, it also brought hundreds of years of political and military stability to Pennigra, with occasional upheavals quickly suppressed, which was why elves, who disliked wars, predominantly resided there.

Although Dwight felt that this environment made the common folk too naive and that the long-suppressed ambitions of the various kings and lords had become increasingly perverse, overall, Pennigra was much more stable than Doran.

Once they stepped off the continent of Pennigra, the protective reach of Constantine’s imperial army ended, and in Doran, several ambitious kingdoms eyed the empire but kept each other in check, each hoping to eliminate their rivals before claiming the throne, leading to frequent skirmishes of varying scale and making the imperial presence much weaker there.

Once the waters were muddied, it would be hard to see clearly what fish were within.

Compared to Pennigra, where even the number of white mages was low, Doran was truly a mixed bag. Witch Elena was just one example; various forms of black magic thrived there, and more than half of the major Black Gold Families strongholds were located in Doran. There were even rumors that demons defeated centuries ago and not cast into the abyss continued to lurk in the corners of Doran.

This was also why, after noticing changes in Priscilla’s rose, Dwight decided to go to Doran himself. The situation there was too complex. Even if he assembled all the knights of Lemena into an army, they might get embroiled in conflicts before even reaching their destination. It was better to travel in a small, inconspicuous group.

Indeed, the Duke had been against his sister marrying off to far-away, chaotic Doran from the start—it was a place beyond his reach.

Had she stayed in Pennigra, even without relying on the power of the Duke of Brandenburg, the gentle Priscilla could have found a good husband, and Dwight could have supported her at any time.

Unfortunately, the decision about Priscilla’s marriage wasn’t up to Dwight at the time.

The handsome Duke of Brandenberg lowered his eyes, concealing his chilly emotions.

Shivers glanced at his silent master and changed the subject. “Yes, Columbus. We’re not just going on an excursion. They say witches are very petty, especially resenting women more beautiful than themselves. It would be terrible if she became jealous of Cici’s beauty.”

The tin soldier pondered and felt that it made sense. “Elena is a bad woman.”

Cici pouted. “I’m not afraid of the witch—that’s not why I’m not going. Plus, I’m a man; wearing skirts is just a hobby of mine.”

“I can’t go to Doran because my sister is there, and she’s scarier than Elena,” Cici added. “Until I come of age, I’d rather not meet her.”

“Why before you come of age?” Columbus asked.

“It’s a traditional rule among the Black Gold Families. Direct bloodline members must not engage in family affairs before adulthood. In turn, no matter the feud among families, they must not involve underage members,” Shivers explained, having studied these matters alongside the Duke since childhood.

Cici nodded. “It’s a way of leaving an escape for each other. There have been times when families fought to the death, but as long as direct bloodline children survive, the family can someday revive.”

“But wouldn’t the surviving children seek revenge?” Eugene asked. “Cut the grass, remove the roots, right? Why leave trouble for yourself?”

Cici rolled his eyes at him. “These are written into the contracts, smart guy.”

Eugene understood. “You mean that thing… written into your bones and blood, that kills you if you break it?”

“That’s called a Blood Oath,” Shivers said. “It’s complex to initiate, but once made, it’s inviolable… No wonder this rule is limited to ‘direct bloodlines’. It seems to be enforced.” If traced back, it was probably established by the original family heads using some ancient contract magic.

“The power of ‘blood’ cannot be denied by anyone,” Cici said. “Although there’s a contract for protection, you cannot act recklessly just because of this contract. That’s why I can’t freely use the power of my family before I come of age. Otherwise, why would I have to personally pretend to be a pitiful girl to steal… cough.”

Dwight wasn’t interested in these noble textbook matters. Instead, he paid more attention to the rabbit’s expression. He noticed that when they mentioned ‘contracts’, Charlie’s usually relaxed, furry face stiffened for a moment. This change was very subtle that not even Shivers, who was engaged in conversation with Cici, noticed—probably only Dwight did.

He said nonchalantly, “That pot is yours to keep.”

For the Duke, the pot was just bait for catching the rabbit, though, by some twist of fate, it ended up hooking Eugene, the rogue. However, Eugene’s years of experience struggling at the bottom might unexpectedly prove useful in the chaotic conditions of Doran.

Now that he had captured both the rabbit and the rogue, the Duke felt like clearing house.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Cici said cheerfully. “Actually, I’d love to go with you, but that stinky woman Anna—”

He abruptly stopped himself.

“Anyway, I wish you all a smooth journey.” The young man awkwardly changed the topic, poking the tin soldier a bit clumsily.

Though their acquaintance started and proceeded under less than ideal circumstances, for some reason, Cici still liked being with them.

He had insidiously disguised himself as a damsel in distress to approach them. Even though his actions were exposed, the group, including Columbus, hadn’t treated him harshly. There wasn’t even the anticipated cursing and being placed on horseback seemed more of a formality than anything. Along the way, whatever they ate, Cici ate, and by the latter part of the journey, they didn’t even bother to tie him up. Although Dwight said, “He has no food, and if we let him go, he can only die,” in reality, everyone treated him no differently than anyone else in the group.

Thanks to his appearance, Cici could easily make himself look innocent and pitiable if he wished. But being born a Fox and having grown up in “that kind” of environment, he had lost any real connection to innocence by the age of seven. Whether he was scheming or genuinely straightforward, he could instinctively tell.

The tin soldier took his hand. “I will always remember you, my friend. Whether my fate lies in the soil of my homeland or a witch’s incinerator, you will remain in my memories until the end.”

Cici’s face immediately fell.

“That’s enough,” the shopkeeper said, trying to keep the peace. “I won’t let Elena throw you into the incinerator, Columbus.”

“I know, but Charlie, I might never be able to return to Maplewood. I’ve prepared myself for that!” Columbus said, sniffling heavily.

“Whatever it takes,” Eugene said, “I’ll help you, Columbus. I can sneak into the witch’s castle—I’m not bragging, but there isn’t a lock in the world I can’t pick! I’ll steal everything she cares about, forcing her to lift your curse!”

“Eugene! Don’t make me more moved!” the tin soldier exclaimed. “If you make me cry, my joints will rust!”

“But you don’t actually cry. Your head is empty,” Cici pointed out.

“That’s not certain,” Columbus said seriously. “I feel my emotions are very rich. It must be enough to fill my tin head.”

Dwight, watching them hug each other, felt even the tea in his hands turn sour.

Although Cici couldn’t embark on the journey with everyone, he still provided as much help as possible.

Thanks to him, everyone managed to get enough rest and recuperation in the top floor rooms of Mr. Beard’s. In the two days before departure, the Duke of Brandenburg indulged in several hot baths, as if he could preemptively claim cleanliness for the days ahead. Shivers, much easier to serve than his master, focused solely on maintaining all their weapons and had Eugene pack their luggage as securely as possible.

Once they entered Doran from Pennigra, they would be on smooth roads, so Cici prepared a two-wheeled cart with big wheels for Charlie and Eugene’s donkeys to pull. Additionally, they purchased a four-wheeled carriage (with two horses) because the Duke insisted his own horses, Araceae and Midnight, were too dignified to pull a cart. Havena helped Eugene buy many things at the market, including dozens of clean undergarments, full sets of socks, wrapped salted bread, hams, tea, spices, tobacco, and a small basket of fine apples.

Charlie, through Cici’s connections, obtained the latest maps from the Fox family, detailing the territorial changes and road networks of Doran’s kingdoms over the past three years. Even the black market couldn’t provide a more detailed map than this. The Duke of Brandenburg used it to gain a clearer understanding of Priscilla’s current situation.

The author has something to say:

Cici will still be involved; after all, his hometown is there. Thanks to everyone at Mr. Beard’s, the journey will begin on a positive note.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 17

Today was the first day of February. The ice and snow on the fields were gradually melting away. The main roads into the city had been cleaned early, and the gates of Hilly City were adorned with red and white satin ribbons. The city, silent all winter, seemed to suddenly awaken. Everywhere you looked, there was a bustling and busy scene.

All residents facing the street spent the whole day cleaning their houses and fixing up their gardens. People from nearby villages dress up and eagerly head into the city—every early February, Hilly City hosted a three-day and three-night festival to celebrate the passing of the harsh winter and the revival of all things. During these three days, all craftsmen and merchants brought out the goods they had accumulated over the winter to sell at much more reasonable prices than before the onset of winter. It was these rare discounts that drew many people who didn’t live in Hilly City to make the trip.

Some shops were busy removing rust from their doors, airing out colorful curtains and tablecloths, getting ready to welcome guests.

However, they knew that the real connoisseurs didn’t start spending heavily on the first day of the festival; the real highlight happened on the last two days.

Both sides of every street were wide enough to accommodate three carriages side by side, lined with shops. These spacious and expensive shops were usually very reserved, only hanging up doorbells when the sun was high enough to illuminate their second-floor windows. But there were exceptions among them. Nestled between the larger stores, appearing just as elegant but filled with things like men’s hats or novelty ink bottles that would puzzle a truly tasteful person, wondering who would seriously enter these shops to buy an out-of-season hat.

In fact, quite a few did.

Compared to some shops still reeling from the winter slump, Mr. Beard’s gift shop at 28 Sea Breeze Street obviously had its own loyal clientele. Almost as soon as the “Closed” sign was removed, carriages began to stop in front, with maids helping well-dressed ladies enter the shop, seemingly in urgent need to purchase gifts for the gentlemen of their houses to kick off the new year’s social season.

The manager of Mr. Beard’s shop, a proud and portly lady, didn’t greet customers at the door. Instead, she sat on an ornate stool in a corner of the shop, loudly criticizing a maid for not placing a set of glass decorations properly. If a lady with a fan covering half her face entered the shop, she would immediately scrutinize her from head to toe. Upon judging her handbag to be sufficiently expensive, she would then stack the flesh on her face into a smile and, with an overly enthusiastic voice, invited her to the VIP room at the back of the shop to see the real new arrivals, because “only bumpkins display their best goods in the front window.”

But if a plainly dressed passerby inadvertently opened the door and entered, a spectacle would ensue. The plump lady would meticulously file her already sharp nails even sharper and use the decorative hourglass on the low cabinet to time the visitor. If the hourglass ran out and the person showed no intention of buying anything, she would have the maid hustle the visitor out, arguing that the shop was filled with delicate and beautiful art pieces that could be damaged by the clumsy hands of textile workers.

So, when she saw a drab-looking girl enter the shop, she almost couldn’t control her urge to scream. She loved the festival for the business it brought but despised that it also attracted many country folk to the city, forcing her to constantly dust off the counters as if she herself was doing the cleaning, rather than the freckled, perpetually busy girl.

“Havena! Havena!” she called, not willing to get up from her stool to personally eject the country girl, but Havena was still in the back, and she needed to quickly get that dirty little thing out—

“Stop yelling and move aside.” The girl in a black cloak muttered. “Open the door. I need to get to ‘Eden’.”

The plump lady stopped her actions and eyed her suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her eyeballs rolling under droopy eyelids.

The girl scoffed and extended her hand, causing the plump lady to widen her eyes at the sight of a tattoo on the girl’s pale wrist, then incredulously looked back at her face.

Despite the weariness from days of travel tainting her originally delicate complexion, her bright golden hair and beautiful blue eyes remain undimmed. Cici said in a hoarse voice, “Open the door.”

The plump lady hurriedly rolled off her stool, fumbled out a large bunch of oddly shaped keys, and the two disappeared behind the shop.

Minutes later, a freckled girl clutching a bunch of cloaks hurried out of Mr. Beard’s, turning the corner.

“Why do we have to dress up like this?” Eugene grumbled, uncomfortably tightening the women’s cloak around him as they quickly crossed the street.

“Low profile,” Charlie murmured from the corner of his mouth. Apart from Columbus, all of them were of normal male stature, especially Shivers and Eugene, whose cloaks made them stand out even more.

Luckily, they weren’t far from Mr. Beard’s. Havena nervously led them through the shop, careful not to let the curious little tin soldier touch their fragile displays.

“The young master is waiting for you,” Havena whispered, obviously tense around Eugene, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the keys.

“Thank you,” Charlie said. His voice was as smooth as satin in the dim corridor, quickly putting Havena at ease, and she opened the door.

It was still dim behind the door, but the space was unexpectedly large. They seemed to have entered a circular salon. A row of soft sofas quietly rested in the corner, and across from them was a similarly dim corridor where two women, startled by their presence, quickly duck into a room.

The plump lady hastily descended the spiral staircase, holding a golden candlestick. “Go to the shop, Havena,” she commanded.

The second floor was also a circular salon and corridor, but with brighter lighting and more upscale decor. A branched chandelier hung from the ceiling, deep red curtains reached the floor, and not a sliver of sunlight could penetrate, filling the air with a faint scent of incense. Eugene sniffed hard.

The room at the end of the corridor seemed to be the largest, and the plump lady bent over to invite them in. Eugene hesitated—the room’s floor was covered with the finest handmade carpets, certainly not something his rugged boots should tread on.

The Duke had no such qualms. He stepped onto the soft carpet without hesitation and started issuing orders to Cici in the room. “I need a bath.”

Cici said with a smile, “The bath is downstairs.”

“Don’t give me that brothel nonsense,” Dwight said with disgust. “Where is the bathroom in this room?”

The mention of the brothel loaded the air with tension, and Eugene and Columbus turned their heads sharply towards Cici.

Cici shrugged nonchalantly and pointed them in the right direction.

It wasn’t just the Duke who felt exhausted. Indeed, days of forced marches had left everyone drained. Yet, they had to wait for Dwight to finish in the bathroom—God, the Duke of Brandenburg took a whole two hours to bathe!

And he still found reasons to complain: no attentive maids, everything had to be done by himself, and the soap was too cheap—he spent some time mentally preparing himself before he could bring himself to use it on his skin.

His bath, it turned out, was anything but relaxing.

Yet he personally instructed that ‘the freckled girl’ wash his clothes.

After the hustle, the sleep-deprived Duke finally got to sleep in a bed, and Cici’s family influence was apparent. The spacious room above Mr. Beard’s, while not fit for a king, was just acceptable for a Duke to lodge in. Once Dwight hit the soft pillow, he forgot all his noble standards, and when he next opened his eyes, the room was dark, filled with the sounds of breathing from various corners.

He frowned, sat up in bed, and as he moved, the corner of the duvet slid off the bed, swiftly grabbed by someone and yanked to the floor.

Even after showers, the smell of several men in one room wasn’t pleasant. The Duke glanced at Eugene sprawled on the floor and at Cici and Columbus on the couch, then got out of bed.

The rabbit head was missing.

The stuffy air in the bedroom told Dwight they’d been asleep for over six hours. He stepped out of the living room and noticed the curtains by the window weren’t drawn properly, letting through a sliver of light.

There was Charlie, sitting on the balcony, legs crossed, his shirt sleeves casually rolled to his forearms, and a long pipe resting against his wrist.

For a moment, Dwight felt a strange sense of familiarity—not the fluffy rabbit, but a fine, normal profile of a man.

But the illusion didn’t last long. Charlie turned, seemingly startled by his presence.

“You need some hot chicken soup.” Charlie tapped his pipe, smiling. “The Knight Commander would collapse if he saw your current complexion.”

Dwight stepped out onto the balcony indifferently. The room was surprisingly soundproof; only once outside did he realize the street was bustling. Even in the middle of the night. Lights and fire illuminated half the sky, with rough laughter and the sound of bagpipes mingling with the smells of ale and roasted meat.

“As expected of a major city on the border of Pennigra, it’s much livelier than Kamal.” Charlie exhaled a smoke ring, seemingly content with plenty of sleep and food, his voice unusually calm.

“It’s also our last stop.” Dwight squinted, looking down at a streetwalker joking with passersby. In the shadowy firelight, her age was indiscernible, but her exaggerated smile was clear.

“Does she know she’s standing in front of a property owned by the Fox family?” Duke Dwight scoffed.

“She does.” Charlie took another drag of his pipe. “But she won’t interfere with Mr. Beard’s business.”

He met the Duke’s inquiring gaze and suddenly smiled suggestively.

“There are several salons on the first floor, with handsome young gentlemen in different rooms talking, smoking, reading, playing cards, and bathing.” Charlie’s voice dropped suggestively. “Each salon has secret windows leading to the rooms where you can fully enjoy the young men’s activities from every angle. If they quicken your pulse, ring a bell, and a maid will lead the chosen Romeo to a small room along the corridor, where a small bag of gold can buy you a romantic date.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 16

Charlie’s smile hadn’t fully faded from his face, and his tone was even a bit casual. “I was disowned from the family tree a long time ago, or so it seems.”

“That’s not a wise decision. After all, not everyone can graduate as the top student.” The Duke offered him a polite yet insincere smile.

“Yes, a major, irreparable loss,” Charlie said seriously. “Like a hole in a pocket, once the gold coins fall out, they’re lost forever. But I guess a nobleman of your stature wouldn’t make such mistakes, right? Surely there are plenty of charming maids in your castle, always ready to mend your pockets.”

He winked mischievously with his round rabbit eyes and briskly urged his donkey to catch up with the group.

Dwight hadn’t had the chance to retort about the impossibility of his clothes ever being worn enough to tear when something stirred in his mind, prompting him to reach into the pocket of his cloak.

The pocket of his heavy winter cloak was open, and his gloved fingers touched something hard.

Looking down, the Duke discovered a small round tin box, tightly sealed, filled with fennel candies. He recognized this inexpensive treat, which Priscilla used to make with the castle’s cook during long nights each autumn before distributing them to all families with children in the domain before the onset of winter.

However, Dwight had always had his own pastry chef from a young age and had no interest in such common sweets, having never tried them.

The box of vanilla-flavored fennel candy seemed to momentarily transport him to a well-maintained, lush summer garden.

It was surprisingly calming.

The young Duke then realized what the real purpose behind the shopkeeper’s rambling had been, but the sensation of being cajoled with candy was quite irritating.

He wasn’t a child.

Children couldn’t be dukes of vast lands.

Dwight put the box back into his pocket and quickened his pace.

The journey was just as unsuitable for Cici, the young man who had been untied long ago—on the desolate wilderness with no people in sight, he couldn’t outrun a coyote even if he tried.

During the day, he mostly lay listlessly draped over the back of the donkey, lifting his skirt high in a rather unbecoming manner, sighing deeply.

The threat of demanding a ransom from the Fox family was just a scare tactic by Dwight, and while he wasn’t intimidated by the Fox family, one of the Black Gold Families, he was preoccupied with important matters and didn’t want any complications.

Thus, after tormenting Cici for a couple of days, he had effectively granted him a form of freedom, just without explicitly stating it.

Cici was very astute and quickly recovered from the shock of having his identity exposed. He knew that someone like Dwight, whose cloak buttons alone were intricately crafted and who carried himself with noble demeanor, wouldn’t intentionally make enemies.

He had only stolen a magic pot and would probably be slapped around for a couple of days and then be fine.

Indeed, this proved to be the case, as the fascinating little tin soldier, although initially devastated, couldn’t suppress his enthusiasm and awkwardly began chatting with him again.

While the big man and the rabbit-headed guy had been quite polite to him from the start, only the most good-looking and worst-tempered of them kept giving him dirty looks.

Once Cici was assured of his safety, he became restless. With the towns far ahead and behind, and the journey dreadfully dull, he eagerly tried to extract from Shivers their purpose and direction of travel.

Though the Knight Commander was as patient and courteous with men as he was with women, he was tight-lipped about matters concerning the Dwight family. Columbus, however, who didn’t require being asked, started spilling his own stories.

Many families of power had some ties with mages, and though curses weren’t unfamiliar to Cici, Columbus’s situation was somewhat unique.

The warm-hearted little tin soldier, eager to extend a friendly hand to anyone, was liked by Cici, who offered to help, but he immediately shut up when he learned the curse came from the witch Elena.

Elena’s infamy had even reached the corners of the Pennigra continent, and the Fox family was of course familiar with her.

Cici questioned, “Will Elena easily satisfy your request?” According to the shopkeeper, they clearly weren’t friends. If it were so easy, why had they stayed so long away from the Doran continent in Maplewood?

Columbus thought seriously for a moment. “I guess she won’t.”

Charlie softly said, “We have to try. And my teacher is there. He’s the greatest mage I’ve ever met. We can seek his help.”

Columbus turned to him. “Charlie, are you sure?”

Only he seemed to sense that the closer they got to the Doran continent, the more nervous this man became—a very, very rare sentiment for Charlie.

The shopkeeper reached out and patted Columbus’s head. “Don’t worry.”

Cici watched Charlie for a while, then suddenly asked, “Did you stay away from the Doran continent because of Elena?”

Though young, he wasn’t inexperienced. He could clearly see that when talking about the witch Elena, the shopkeeper’s eyes didn’t show the usual dread and fear of witches. His tone was as calm as if discussing an old friend not seen for years.

Charlie paused, and in a moment of distraction, he glanced at the slowly advancing Dwight.

He seemed to understand a bit why Dwight wasn’t very fond of Cici. The kid had a keenness that was over the top—a trait somewhat similar to that of the Duke himself.

Such people could catch clues and doubts more swiftly than others, often making those they converse with feel utterly transparent.

“Yes,” Charlie said gently. “Columbus’ curse isn’t just transformation. It includes soul control. The farther away from Elena, the less influence she has over Columbus.”

Soul control.

Everyone’s face changed at the mention of the word. If there was anything more terrifying than death, it was the loss of freedom for the soul.

The most recent major event related to soul control in human history occurred less than a century ago—it involved seven kingdoms across the continents of Pennigra and Doran. During that time, one of the kings, in a desperate bid to escape a dire situation, prayed to his ancestors for help but ended up summoning a demon. This quickly turned the tide on the battlefield and expanded his territory by a third.

The demon’s method was to control the souls of enemy soldiers. As expected, those who lost their souls raised their weapons against innocent civilians, their comrades, and even their family members. Panic spread across the continents like a plague, and trust among people completely disintegrated.

Even though the demon was eventually destroyed by a coalition of the six other kings, the shadow this war cast on humanity was indelible.

To this day, older people might curse, “May your soul be dragged to the gutter by a demon!”

“But Columbus is conscious,” Eugene said skeptically. “I’ve heard that people whose souls are controlled are like puppets.”

“Columbus is an exception.” Charlie smiled. “In every possible way.”

The little tin soldier tilted his head in thought.

“There are things I don’t remember,” he said.

“I remember. You’ve told me many times,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently. “It happened in autumn, right?”

The little soldier replied, “It seems so. I feel like there should also be a water wheel.”

“That was your home. A small stream ran by the front, and your father had installed the water wheel himself,” the shopkeeper explained. “That year was very hot. The river dried up early, and the water wheel stopped working.”

“Right!” Columbus exclaimed. “My little sister thought the water wheel was broken and cried for days—”

He paused, thoughtful. “So, I have a sister.”

“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 daisies on her apron. Everyone loved her, lovely Balda!”

“If he remembers all that, does it mean the curse didn’t fully work?” Cici asked.

“I’m not sure.” The shopkeeper hesitated. “Compared to others, Columbus’s curse doesn’t seem… complete.”

“Others?” Dwight furrowed his brows. “Are there others who were cursed along with him?”

“Not only that, but the number might also be more than you expect,” Charlie hinted subtly.

Dwight formed a rough guess.

“An army?” he suggested.

“It’s more accurate to call it a guard than an army,” Charlie replied. “I’ve told you before. Elena inherited a significant part of her power from a previous witch, but that legacy included a castle and some ‘attachments’ as well.”

“Such as curses,” Shivers added.

“Such as curses.” Charlie nodded.

“So, why exactly were you cursed?” Cici asked Columbus.

If the painted features on the tin soldier’s face could move, they would be tightly furrowed at that moment.

“You told me it was on your seventeenth birthday,” the shopkeeper said softly.

“Right.” Columbus realized. “My birthday is in autumn. I told my mother that after the harvest, I’d look for a job in the neighboring town.”

“Mother was reluctant, but Balda was too young and often fell ill in winter. We needed money. She finally agreed, letting me go after my birthday. She got up early to bake me a big jam pie.” Columbus’s voice faded. “It was too hot that year. The entire village’s harvest wasn’t good, and everyone was irritable. That morning, the heads of several neighboring villages suddenly came. They gathered all the men in the village, brought along hunting dogs, and planned to cross the forest to…”

His tin body suddenly shivered.

“…hunt a witch.” Charlie finished for him.

Everyone was silent for a while before Eugene asked softly, “At that time, was it Elena?”

“At that time, Elena hadn’t been born yet,” Charlie said. “I don’t know her name, but later Elena called her Lady Eve.”

Witch hunts, a persistent activity across continents, varied in nature. Though witches could freely persecute humans, they weren’t immortal demons. They could be injured by weapons and suffer from depleted magical power; thus, both sides maintained a bizarre balance of power over the long term.

The dramatic witch hunts led to the elimination of many witches with impure or weakened magical powers, while those who survived were fewer but more powerful, resulting in even more human casualties.

Columbus had almost no memory of Lady Eve—he could only vaguely recall following behind the adults with a hay fork, overhearing their discussions. Some said they saw Lady Eve hosting demons in the forest on a full moon night, with only a giant cauldron and the witch herself visible, but the shadows on the ground were crowded and bizarre, as if filled with guests. When she threw strange spices into the fire, skulls of cats bubbled up in the boiling water; others said she built a secret castle deep in the forest, filled with gold and treasures, diverting nearby rivers under her castle to fill a moat and breeding winged, ugly pigs to guard her wealth, threatening the local crops and people with drought and thirst…

Columbus’ father had injured his leg days before, and he had to replace his father in the hunt. Although he couldn’t even beat a ram, he was so inspired by the angry crowd that he was determined to rid the village of this menace.

“Nobody knows how long Lady Eve had lived, but by the time Columbus and the others went to confront her, she was probably already at the end of her life,” Charlie explained.

Columbus nodded. “There really was a castle in the forest, but there was no moat. The garden had a little maze of holly, and although it was autumn, the grass was full of various flowers. We didn’t see Lady Eve. It was almost dark, and everyone decided to burn down the entire castle. But when we entered the hall, we found it full of gold.”

“Gold?” Eugene asked eagerly.

Columbus nodded blankly.

“A lot of gold. Gold tables with gold plates and cups; floor-standing candlesticks made of gold; stair handrails of gold; carpets embroidered with large chrysanthemums in gold thread.”

The castle was empty.

The villagers searched from the ground floor to the top of the tower, finding countless desirable items: closets full of lavish dresses inlaid with pearls; various jewels carelessly tossed on gold-framed dressing tables, colors and types never seen before; many fashionable hats and fans; even a room with nothing but piles of gold coins.

Some said these treasures were stolen from humans by the witch, urging everyone to take them home. So, everyone tried to stuff their pockets with gold coins.

At that time, Columbus had never even touched a gold coin and couldn’t understand everyone’s frenzy. But when the village head handed him a gold cup, he hesitated. He didn’t know the value of these items. He only knew that if he took gold home without working for it, his mother would be angry.

Everyone stuffed their pockets and hats, except for Columbus, who remained empty-handed. They all urged him to take something home.

“Your father is injured. Take a bag of gold coins. You can afford the best doctor and even buy a fine horse.”

“Your mother always wears a faded old dress. Give her this beautiful dress and a matching hat.”

“Your little sister has never had a toy. There’s a delicate dollhouse and a music box that sings when opened.”

People advised him from all sides and sighed at his naive perspective.

“If you don’t take something now, we’re going back. The witch could return at any moment, and we can’t stay in the forest overnight,” they told Columbus.

Blinded by the treasures in the castle, Columbus didn’t know what to take. Everyone was leaving for the village, so in a hurry, he plucked a perfectly blooming daisy from the lawn.

“I’ll take this back for little Balda,” Columbus said cheerily.

“You’re a fool. With all that gold in front of you, you took a common flower,” a farmer scolded him.

Columbus replied, “This isn’t a common flower. It’s a daisy blooming in autumn, a treasure you can’t find anywhere else.”

No one could convince him otherwise, so they just made him hold his torch properly and not get lost in the group.

But after they left the castle, they never made it out of the forest.

“I only remember following behind everyone, walking and walking, but we never reached the end,” the little tin soldier said. “I put the daisy in my coat pocket and occasionally looked down at it. The last time I looked up, I saw Charlie.”

When Charlie met Columbus, the castle had changed hands. At that time, the shopkeeper, not yet a rabbit-headed man, had fashioned a rope ladder from bed sheets and slipped out of the tower, encountering a bewildered little tin soldier, Columbus, as he crawled out of a hole in the garden.

“I initially wanted to kidnap him,” Charlie said. “I was afraid he’d shout and alert the others—but he didn’t attack me. Instead, he asked my name. I didn’t think those tin soldiers could even talk.”

“Those?” Cici was captivated. “Are there other tin soldiers?”

The shopkeeper’s round eyes looked at him. “There are. Tall as humans, unable to speak, devoid of their own will, only acting on commands—that castle was full of such tin soldiers.”

“If Columbus’ memory is correct,” Dwight said solemnly, “then those normal-sized tin soldiers—”

The shopkeeper pushed his top hat down over his eyes.

“Are probably the villages back then,” he said.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 15

Cici visibly stiffened, then batted his big eyes innocently. “Fox? No, not me.”

Dwight scoffed, then loudly said, “Shivers, once we get to Hilly City, let’s turn his cloak inside out and tie him up. Just drop him off at a brothel door and see if anyone pays to take him back.”

Cici: “…You’re too cruel!”

Eugene looked shocked. “You’re from the Fox family?”

Kingdom conflicts and noble secrets were too far removed from Eugene’s life. No matter how they joked and discussed it, it was all just a legend to him.

But the Fox name, he knew.

Not only did he know it, but he had also heard quite a bit.

Where there was light, there was shadow, and where people congregated, there was often an unspoken rule hidden in secrecy. Such as the black market, casinos, the red-light district, pharmacies, and even monasteries. The noble class held all the overt power, but in places that light didn’t reach, there were always those who, over time, through monopolies in certain trades, amassed wealth and strengthened their families, climbing to the very top. These families, able to speak with nobility on equal footing, were known as the “Black Gold Families”. Their names were older than some noble families, having built their power over several generations, extending their reach to every notable mid-to-large-sized city on the Pennigra continent.

Fox was one of these ancient Black Gold Families. They may never receive medals or titles of nobility, but their accumulated wealth was by no means inferior to that of the nobles. If there was anything they lacked compared to nobles, it was that they couldn’t possess a legal armed force. From birth to death, theirs was a journey kept low-key, not allowed to be openly displayed.

—This was all Eugene knew about the Fox family.

But if it were Dwight, there would be more thought-provoking details to consider.

With the recent decay of the empire, these underground elements had gradually infiltrated some of the noble families, using each other for balance and to gain more benefits—this was an unspoken secret among the upper class.

But the truly established old nobility disdained such actions, arrogantly considering those nobles as debasing themselves, “shaking hands with rats in the gutter”—the Dwight family belonged to this camp.

Still, looking down on and being unconcerned were two different things. Out of an inherited caution and meticulous character, every generation of Dwight had never relaxed their vigilance and monitoring of this power.

However, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had also grasped some clues. Among them, only Columbus and Eugene were truly naïve. Cici, though crafty, was still young and had given himself away after talking a bit too much.

Living in luxury, perfectly imitating a girl despite being male, and with an understanding of the secrets of women’s quarters far beyond anyone else’s at such a young age—Charlie could almost picture Cici growing up in an exquisite boudoir surrounded by whispers and the scent of powders.

A proper noble child wouldn’t live such a life. This scenario only occurred in high-class brothels, and among the Black Gold Families known for their dealings in pleasure, it was the Fox family. This wasn’t to say that all brothels were monopolized by the Fox family, but the real power they held through these powder trades was their control over information.

Not every brothel on the Lemena continent bore the name Fox, but wherever there was a brothel, there were Fox family members, and the information exchanged through whispers and intimacies was controlled solely by them.

“Normally, they wouldn’t meticulously groom an adopted child unless you’re one of the direct heirs of the Fox family.” Cici’s expression, as if struck by lightning, confirmed his deduction was spot on, and the sleep-deprived Duke’s mood finally improved, his face breaking into a sinister smile. “I might estimate how much old Christopher is willing to pay to get you back.”

Christopher, the current patriarch of the Fox family, Cici’s grandfather.

Surprised, anxious, hungry, and tired, the beautiful young man finally couldn’t bear the strain and fainted with a “plop”.

The pleasure of tormenting Cici only lasted less than an hour for Dwight.

The Duke soon realized that from the Pennigra continent to the Doran continent, what was merely a thin line easily drawn with a quill in the study, when placed in the vast wilderness, turned into an infuriatingly arduous and exhausting journey.

The narrow and shabby paths couldn’t accommodate spacious carriages. They had no choice but to rely on horses for transportation; the prolonged riding caused him soreness from his pelvis to his back. The food was also monotonously unbearable—fresh fruits and vegetables couldn’t be preserved or carried. They only had dried, salted meat and hard bread, and in the lingering cold of late winter, wild game was scarce. Most terrifying was that a small church in Popomia turned out to be the most comfortable accommodation they could find for the next few days. Otherwise, they had to set up windproof tents on the spot or stay overnight at farmhouses they encountered on the road—most farmhouses were far from comfortable, with not enough rooms to accommodate their party, and no amount of gold could buy a remotely comfortable bed.

This harsh trek finally made the Duke of Brandenburg realize that wealth still couldn’t buy everything.

Apart from the pampered Cici, who was also half-dead from the journey, whether it was Charlie or Shivers, they still managed to maintain their composure, and Eugene seemed to think this kind of travel was nothing special. Even the little tin soldier, Columbus, was energetically keeping up, and driven by a strong sense of pride, Dwight couldn’t allow himself to complain out loud, undoubtedly worsening his mood.

Foreseeing this situation, Charlie slowed down, walking behind with Dwight to give them some distance from the others. Shivers, sensing they probably had things to discuss, quickened his pace and moved further ahead.

Dwight glanced at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper from the corner of his eye silently.

Days of sleep deprivation made it hard for him to focus. Thankfully, Araceae was excellent enough to proceed securely without his command. Even so, the Duke didn’t like seeing others manage more comfortably than himself, hence he wasn’t inclined to speak with Charlie.

The shopkeeper didn’t mind his cold demeanor.

“Did Priscilla leave in the winter too?” he asked.

The Duke pursed his lips.

“She didn’t take this route,” Dwight said stiffly, not wanting to elaborate.

“I guessed as much. If there had been enough hands, crossing the Labrada Valley from Popomia directly to Hilly City would have been the optimal route, and the caravan at that time must have been long.”

Naturally.

Priscilla, born physically frail, didn’t receive as much praise for her looks as her brother, but her resilient character and noble disposition made her invaluable. More than Dwight, the destined heir, Priscilla was the angel in their parents’ palms, the true treasure of Brandenburg.

Everyone thought Dwight grew up pampered, almost angelically untouched by worldly concerns, but in reality, as the only heir, not a day of his childhood was spent outside strict self-demands and learning, while Priscilla was the carefree one.

Until their parents died unexpectedly, when everyone thought Miss Priscilla would be too heartbroken to cope, she unexpectedly stood firm, standing by her young brother, surprisingly strong in refusing all insincere visits and ‘help’, and personally helped him ascend to his title.

Recalling the past only worsened Dwight’s mood.

If he had set out with his entire order of knights, he could have taken the main roads without fear of bandits. His current party… Although everyone (except Columbus) was capable, would still be in danger if they really faced a sizable group of robbers. Taking the detour was a necessity.

The shopkeeper continued to provoke him. “It’s a pity we don’t have enough people, so we have to take these back roads, without any pomp…”

The Duke gave him a sidelong glance, warning him to stop.

Charlie laughed. “You must love her very much.”

Dwight withdrew his gaze. “Don’t you have any siblings?”

Charlie didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, only the whooshing of the wind past Dwight’s ears could be heard. The sudden change in atmosphere almost made the Duke think he had said something wrong.

But he wasn’t about to turn his head to check what expression was on that ridiculous rabbit face.

As if he seemed to care.

Fortunately, the awkward silence didn’t last long. The shopkeeper straightened the top hat on his head. “Yes, I do.”

His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, but the Duke still caught it sharply.

“I had a brother—very smart, very talented. He was the hope of our family.” Charlie’s voice was very low, with a faint hint of nostalgia. “We lived together when we were kids, but that was a very long time ago. My memories of him are even blurrier than Columbus’ memories of his hometown.”

Two brothers, only one the hope of the family, separated for many years—

It was somewhat illogical, but Dwight was arrogant, not stupid. He knew that no old family was without its secrets, and he understood this wasn’t an issue worth probing.

Not now, at least.

Dwight asked nonchalantly, “And now? Where is your brother?”

Charlie said sadly, “He’s no longer with us.”

Dwight: “……”

The shopkeeper stared at him for a long while until Dwight glared back fiercely, then he burst into laughter.

“I thought you’d fall for that,” Charlie said regretfully. “Yes, he’s not dead, although I don’t know where he is, but he’s probably doing fine.”

The Duke looked like he wanted to whack his rabbit head, but he restrained himself.

“What’s your family name?” he asked irritably.

Charlie had just mentioned ‘family’ and, combined with his previous boasts about his scholarly achievements, it seemed he wasn’t a nameless nobody. At least people below the commoner class rarely had the opportunity for education.

Charlie shrugged.

“I don’t have one,” he said calmly. “Like my brother, I used to have one, but not anymore.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 14

Dwight rode ahead on Araceae with a straight face, remaining silent.

Charlie cast a sympathetic glance at the person securely tied and laid across the white horse.

“What’s your name?” asked the always-amiable rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

“Cici,” the other replied listlessly. “Why is he so angry? Is it because I stole his stuff, or because I’m bigger?”

The red-cloaked girl—now properly called a boy—Cici, no longer looked pitiful at all. Probably realizing there was no escape, he started to provoke deliberately.

Charlie thought about it seriously, and from what he knew, he figured Dwight was angry because he felt fooled by Cici.

As for the matter of size, he didn’t think the Duke’s attention would have been on “who’s bigger” under those circumstances.

Moreover, appearances could be deceiving about certain features, and Cici was living proof of that.

“When did you start targeting us?” Charlie cleverly shifted the topic away from Dwight’s issues. “Was it in Kamal City?”

“Stonewall Inn,” Cici said. “Your magic pot is quite famous. I knew many were after it, but none succeeded.”

“So you figured out a way to blend in with the group.” Charlie understood.

They would be wary of strangers in the store, wary of thieves on the road, but probably not a distressed girl they met by chance, especially one who appeared beautiful and delicate—Cici was right, this was a common weakness among most men.

In fact, he had almost succeeded if not for one among them who, disliking the hardness of the bench, chose to stay awake all night rather than sleep—an aristocrat with the temperament of a princess.

Cici’s failed theft and unsuccessful escape shocked everyone when they woke up the next morning, most of all Columbus and Eugene, who, even after breakfast and hitting the road, hadn’t recovered, occasionally glancing back at Cici with long sighs.

“How much is that pot worth? I’ll pay double to compensate,” Cici negotiated with what seemed to be the most approachable rabbit-headed shopkeeper. “Let me go.”

Charlie replied cheerily, “Genuine female coquetry might work on me.”

Cici’s expression turned serious. “Let me go.”

“If you have money to compensate, why turn to thievery?” the shopkeeper asked. “Your cloak is exquisite, not typical of a common thief.”

What he didn’t say out loud was, even without considering the clothes, this young man didn’t look like a starving thief. His fair, delicate cheeks, bright blue eyes, smooth skin like a girl’s, and thick, glossy golden hair all spoke of a nurtured life, visible in his appearance just as it was in the arrogant Duke leading the way.

Of course, the kind of “angelic appearance” Dwight required was a foundation and daily maintenance even more upscale than Cici’s.

“I just thought the pot was interesting,” Cici confessed. “And since you declared in Kamal that the magic pot was absolutely not for sale, I decided—” to use my looks to my advantage.

He sneakily glanced at the Duke, whose silhouette even exuded, “I am not pleased”.

Though not for sale, no one really cared about that pot. Charlie felt even more sympathetic towards the young man. If not for his own meddling, Cici would already be happily home with the pot—after all, the Duke had watched him take it without even planning to budge.

So, the gears of fate were precise, inexorable.

In any case, a severe lack of sleep somewhat soured Dwight’s mood, the most direct consequence being his displeasure with everyone, Cici most of all.

Thus, Cici, who had been well-attended by gentlemen the day before, spent the entire day strapped to a donkey’s back (according to the Duke, even his horse was suspect and couldn’t be allowed to collude), with his wrists bound uncomfortably tight. If not for Charlie’s insistence on padding the ropes with a towel, just the day’s journey would have been enough to make his fair wrists swell from congestion, or at least chafe the skin raw.

Eugene, however, quickly recovered from his shattered worldview. He finally mounted the high-headed great horse he had longed for and, all along the way, chatted affectionately with Cici’s white horse, fancifully feeling ever closer to the image of a prince on a white horse. By the time they reached the next town, he was sure to meet a heart-fluttering, naive girl who would ask him to slow down by her low wall to have a glass of lemonade she made, her cheeks blushing with shyness, her eyes pleading for him to stay…

Walking beside him, Shivers said, “Ah, that’s not very likely. Country girls are so shy they hardly dare speak up, while city women are more forward. I’ve encountered women who throw things out of windows, then send a maid to invite you to bring it back up.”

Eugene snapped out of his daydream and gave Shivers a wary look. The tall, handsome Knight Commander inexplicably met his gaze.

“Things like that do happen sometimes.” The first half of Eugene’s life was a struggle for survival, barely fitting into the popular gentlemen’s circle. “They also craft cute lies, like brushing their hair by the window and accidentally letting their comb fall down…”

“A comb?” Shivers echoed blankly.

“Or a handkerchief, a fan, something like that,” Eugene hurriedly added.

Charlie chuckled lightly but didn’t join in the conversation, while Cici made an odd “Oh—” sound.

Walking ahead, the Duke suddenly said coolly, “None of those. It’s garters. Do you think women invite him upstairs to discuss the latest hairstyles?”

Eugene: “!”

Shivers said gently, “When I encounter such situations, I’m usually busy, so it’s hard to choose between accepting the invitation and excusing myself, but you’re right, they are all quite charming.”

Eugene looked around.

Shivers: Women fall for me at first sight, shamelessly dropping their garters as an excuse to invite me into their bedrooms. It’s nothing, quite common.

Duke: Only virgins would guess ridiculous answers like combs or handkerchiefs. Of course, it’s garters. Real men understand. It’s nothing, quite common.

Charlie: Smiles silently. It’s nothing, quite common.

He was clearly the oldest and most experienced man present, but why was he treated like a greenhorn by those around him?

Charlie noticed Eugene’s dissatisfaction and comforted him, saying, “Actually, it’s quite normal. Knights are always the closest to love stories, especially handsome knights. Wherever they are, even a monastery can become a place of romance.”

This was a minor social class rule. From top to bottom, kings, dukes, and other high nobles were in positions that certainly didn’t lack exciting nightlife, but these often came with various scheming and multifaceted negotiations of interests. Ordinary civilian merchants, more focused on making a living and limited by their cultural level, were unlikely to have famous love letters or poems circulating, essentially lacking dissemination. Only knights, usually not high-ranking but at least part of the carefree noble class, also carried the aura of a wartime background. Women of any class were happy to engage in a brief, secret romance with knights—this wasn’t even considered a moral issue. So, in this regard, let alone Knight Shivers, even the youngest knight in Brandenburg, Shiloh, who barely looked like an adult and still had freckles, probably got more opportunities than the Duke.

Whether to accept these kinds of love stories entirely depends on the individual. Shivers was a man with high standards and great self-discipline, so his team had almost no precedents of getting into trouble over romantic escapades, and he also strictly prohibited young lads, in the age where hormones exceeded reason, from misbehaving with women. Compared with knights from other domains, the Brandenburg Knights were considered as pure as the Duke they served, earning a reputation for integrity even abroad.

Eugene, with his thief background and previously unkempt hair and beard, probably didn’t even have the chance to glance at a noblewoman—let alone the prostitutes in the alleyways, who probably required a settled price before they would smile at him.

“It’s not entirely about status,” Cici, hanging like a prey carcass, swayed with the donkey’s steps but that didn’t stop his eagerness for gossip.

“A handsome coachman always attracts women more than a corpulent lord. My brother often didn’t have a penny to his name, yet nearly every day he woke up in a different woman’s bedroom. They were willing to spend a lot of money to make clothes for him and flaunt him on their arms when going out to see plays.”

Such was the way of purely male gatherings; the conversation easily drifted towards amorous subjects. What’s most surprising was that Cici, only fifteen, could describe various romantic tales vividly, not limited to Kamal City. He knew well the famous amorous tales of major city socialites and even obscure stories from various noble families. Shivers and Dwight weren’t gossipy by nature, but when the conversation involved people they both knew and frequently interacted with, they couldn’t help but listen closely.

Eugene, on the other hand, was more interested in some crude urban jokes and quickly became engrossed, urging Cici to continue the story about a ‘beautiful woman with a voluptuous figure renowned for her secret manor filled only with young farmhands, where no women were allowed. After the social season, several carriages discreetly entered the manor, rumored to be filled with noblewomen going for a vacation there.’ The story continued.

Cici lowered his voice mysteriously. “The manor is surrounded by roses. Only a horse that knows the path can avoid the thorns and enter smoothly. The lady has a secret large room filled with various toys crafted by skilled artisans, described by the ladies who have been there as a ‘museum that makes one linger and forget to return’.”

“What kind of toys?” Eugene asked with a lewd expression.

At that moment, Cici clammed up. “It’s very uncomfortable hanging here. I don’t have the energy to tell stories anymore.”

Charlie timely intervened. “Cici, do you know any of the ladies who have been to that manor?”

Cici responded without thinking, “I don’t know any, but my…”

He suddenly stopped, his beautiful blue eyes blinked. “I won’t tell you.”

It was then that the Duke, who had been treating him like air, slowed down to walk beside him, thoughtfully asking, “Are you, by any chance, from the Fox family?”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 13

To be honest, Dwight himself was quite surprised that Elena’s magic pot was so sought-after.

Eugene and those thieves from the Stonewall Inn were inexperienced. Treasuring a broken pot as if it were precious was one thing, but that a random suspicious woman they met on the road also stole the pot was something he found contemptible.

Magic had its limits. Who knows how long the magic on that pot would last. Maybe in a couple of days, it would be no different from an ordinary ceramic pot—let’s say the magic didn’t fade. It would be just a pot that could pour an endless amount of wine, not gold. Why would it be worth fighting over?

The wealthy Duke, owning three large vineyards, couldn’t understand, so he just watched as the blonde girl sneaked away with the magic pot, completely unbothered to intervene.

“Even if she’s a thief, I’m going after her.” Charlie didn’t stop what he was doing, and he didn’t ask the Duke to accompany him. The donkey, who was forced to work overtime in the middle of the night, still followed him out of the stable.

“Is it really necessary?” Dwight frowned.

Charlie mounted the donkey, his large, round rabbit eyes looking gently at the Duke.

“You might not believe it, but my life hasn’t been easy for a single second. Although it’s mostly been tough, it’s still taught me many important things, one of which is to respect all life.”

“Not everyone deserves respect,” the young Duke said. “She might have accomplices waiting outside the village. If you chase after her alone, you might be the one who ends up in the wolf’s den.”

Although they hadn’t known each other long, Dwight saw many qualities in Charlie that he didn’t think a person who could run a mysterious little shop in Maplewood alone and had many intriguing background stories would be so reckless and sanctimoniously generous.

Charlie seemed to see what he was thinking.

“Since I have ways to keep you from the wolves, I also have ways to avoid them. I won’t just rush into the woods alone, but at least—”

At least make sure that pretty thief doesn’t stupidly run into a pack of wolves.

Five minutes later, the scowling Duke and Araceae joined Charlie on the stone path.

‘I won’t intervene. It’s just making sure this brainless rabbit doesn’t get torn apart by wolves for some inexplicable thief’s sake. I haven’t even reached the Doran continent yet and still need this rabbit,’ the Duke told himself.

What actually bothered him more was that Charlie seemed to have anticipated that he would come along.

“What if her stupidity gets us all killed?” Dwight grumbled all the way, unhappy about being dragged into this.

“If we encounter a situation beyond our ability, the first choice is, of course, to flee.” Charlie said, “I’m no knight. I don’t have such chivalry—if I have to choose between her and me, I’d rather stay alive myself.”

That sounded reasonable.

But the Duke still wasn’t pleased with his saintly actions and was about to critique further when Araceae slowed down.

By then, they had reached the outskirts of the village. Rabbit ears were apparently more sensitive than human ears, and Charlie also stopped, tilting his head slightly, puzzled. “What’s that sound ahead?”

Popomia was a semi-circular village surrounded by mountains, with forests both on the mountain and the plains, so most villagers’ houses had solid stone walls to defend against wild animals. They had seen some defensive barriers on the outskirts during the day, and now they finally understood why the villagers had expanded their defensive perimeter so much.

In the silent night, the howling of hungry wolves carried especially far.

“Wolves. The same pack from the day?” Dwight squinted, trying to spot the gleaming green eyes in the pitch darkness.

“Not necessarily.” Charlie’s donkey was also frightened, and he had to calm it down. “It looks like we won’t need to go too far. No sensible person would head towards the woods at this hour.”

“They wouldn’t head up the mountain either. If I were her…” Dwight paused significantly, “I’d find a nearby hiding spot to conceal myself until the early morning when the wolves disperse and ‘we’ haven’t woken up yet, then quickly make an escape.”

But the problem was that the area of Popomia Village wasn’t small. Forget streetlights, they hadn’t seen a single wind-shielded lamp under an eave all the way there, relying entirely on Araceae’s excellent sense of direction and experience to walk so smoothly. Otherwise, it would be easy to stumble and fall.

On such a starless night, a slender girl could simply hide in any family’s haystack, and even ten people would find it hard to locate her.

“Ah, that’s no problem.” Charlie said, “As long as we’re close enough, it will be easy to find her.”

Dwight turned his head, watching him pull out a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

“I found a strand of golden hair on the blanket just now.” Charlie said proudly, “You didn’t think I came unprepared, did you?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.” The Duke posed a polite and courteous inquiry, “What can we do with a single strand of hair?”

He emphasized the word ‘single’. Duke Dwight went hunting in the countryside every autumn. He knew well that even the best-bred hounds could hardly track by a single strand of hair, let alone when they only had a rabbit, not a hound.

And from what he observed, apart from looking like a rabbit, Charlie didn’t seem to have any non-human talents, such as being able to live on grass alone.

Charlie ignored his comment, and skillfully folded a small, cute pinwheel from that paper and a small twig, wrapping the strand of golden hair around the pinwheel’s handle.

“Look.” He presented it like a treasure.

“I’m past the age of needing toys, sir.” The Duke wasn’t ready to be supportive.

“It’s a seeker pinwheel.” Charlie patiently explained, “I’m a top graduate from Monterey Academy, and this title wasn’t won by being voted most popular male student for three consecutive years.”

Dwight was no stranger to tracing magic, but the proper operation of such magic was supposed to be “using a compass, sand, or clear water as a medium, with the accuracy and effective duration directly influenced by the operator’s magical depth”. This came from “Origins and Basic Principles of Magic, Volume One” (by Hershey Gruskinsky)—indeed, although he had no intention to study magic, Duke Dwight was educated intensively from childhood and could be considered well-read in all aspects. Thus, he had a solid theoretical foundation.

He was certain that even in derivative magic, there was no use of pinwheels to perform operations.

Charlie seemed oblivious to the Duke’s disdain for his unconventional magic, cheerfully attaching the pinwheel to the harness of the large donkey below him. In the absence of wind, the little pinwheel began to rotate slowly.

“This kind of magic can’t last very long.” This time, Charlie took the lead. “As long as the direction is correct, the pinwheel won’t stop spinning, so we just need to adjust according to the pinwheel… Ouch.”

He rubbed his head and glared at the Duke. The latter was tossing a small pinecone up and down. Clearly, this was the object that had just hit him.

“If you know magic, why not find a way to break the curse?” Dwight asked.

People who had never studied magic treated it almost like a miracle; they could neither understand nor perform it, nor could they defend against it. Only those who had systematically studied it could understand its mechanisms.

However, most ordinary people also didn’t have the opportunity to learn, and even literate individuals were rare—cultural heritage was always in the hands of the privileged.

“The curse on Columbus is very complex, and it’s been a long time that the residual traces have almost been worn away.” The shopkeeper glared at him. “To unravel a magic formula, you need to meet at least several basic known conditions, and with just a little clue from Columbus, it’s difficult to deduce the rest. And Elena, who has inherited this kind of power, could quickly undo the curse if she wanted to.”

“What about your own?” Dwight asked slowly. “I remember your head is Elena’s masterpiece. Strictly speaking, aren’t you her senior?”

The implication was that Charlie couldn’t break Elena’s curse = was overtaken by a junior = was embarrassingly outmatched.

Charlie paused for a moment before reluctantly saying, “I’ve never been good at arithmetic.”

“I thought ‘excellence’ included ‘in all subjects’.”

“It does! When I say not so good, I mean at least above the standard line. Actually, my other…”

“So Elena at least far exceeded the standard line, right? Including practical operations?”

The shopkeeper was a bit angry, feeling this kid was very unreasonable and unwilling to give face.

Fortunately, at this moment, his little pinwheel started to spin faster, understandingly. To avoid startling their target with the noise of hooves, both men dismounted and walked forward quietly in the dark.

They passed through a wheat field with some uncut remnants of snow on the ground, making the walk a bit strenuous. At the end of the field, down a small slope, was a low barn that, if viewed from afar, only showed a shallow straw roof and was easily overlooked.

The barn seemed long unmaintained, some of its planks were askew, and through the gaps, one could see some farm tools and a white horse.

But there was no one inside.

“I told you. Her horse and cloak are as conspicuous as streetlamps at night. She would definitely hide.” Dwight scoffed.

“Shh.” Charlie nudged him, signaling for him to listen quietly.

From a nearby bush came the rustling sound of someone moving. They didn’t light their lamps but followed the noise as silently as possible.

The footsteps soon stopped, followed by the sound of a cloak rustling.

Dwight, whose temper was worsening from staying up late, was clearly tired of this hide-and-seek game. He stepped forward hastily, and before Charlie could stop him, he struck a flint and lit the lantern in his hand—

Long golden curls gracefully fell down her back. The previously crimson cloak was apparently worn reversed, now black velvet blending with the night. The owner of the cloak, startled by Dwight’s movements, turned around, her large blue eyes dazzled by the lantern light, forcing her to close them.

And her hand, holding her privates, even forgot to withdraw it.

As a nobleman who prided himself on a remarkably clean private life, Dwight was shocked by the bizarre scene before him and involuntarily took a step back.

Behind him, Charlie stepped forward, peering over the Duke’s shoulder to assess the situation.

“It seems we’re being a bit rude.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper commented subtly. “Got frightened back.”

The author has something to say:

Little Red Riding Hood was peeing standing up.

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