Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 27

From the moment she saw that rose, Priscilla understood.

Why her noble brother, who was supposed to be sitting in Brandenburg enjoying wealth and power, had appeared at the other end of this distant continent, sneaking into the palace without even a single guard by his side.

The life force of the pink roses in Brandenburg was fading. He was worried about her.

Priscilla took a deep breath.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I am in good health. The roses in the castle live and bloom for me. Since I have left Lemena, they will naturally wither over time, but that doesn’t mean I will as well. I have no complaints about my life now. You should return to Lemena immediately, or at least leave Doran.”

Dwight looked at her. The concern in Priscilla’s eyes was unmistakably genuine.

“It’s different here from Lemena. And from… Pennigra,” Priscilla whispered softly. “If I had known, I would never have agreed to this. Please leave before midnight, after the court ball ends, Duke Dwight.”

Her tone became almost stern by the end of her statement.

Dwight was about to speak when he suddenly stopped. Like a keen hound sensing danger, he quickly approached the door.

Two maids approached, carrying a large silver tray, seemingly preparing to make the bed for the King.

Dwight frowned slightly. Did they not know the Queen was still in the room? If the King and Queen were talking, how could servants just enter the room? Or was the Queen’s behavior not meant to be public?

Unaware of the eyes watching through the door crack, the two maids chatted softly about the drama at the ball tonight, placing the silver tray on the ground and pushing open the door of the large room at the end of the corridor.

“Ahhhhh—!”

Almost simultaneously, a piercing scream echoed through the night, startling Priscilla almost to the ground. Dwight steadied her, quickly scanning the room for another exit.

Nobles, especially kings, commonly built secret chambers and passages in castle palaces, but not always.

Even if there were secret passages in the room they were in, it would be difficult for a Duke visiting for the first time to find one so quickly.

“What happened?” Priscilla tried to approach the door but was stopped by Dwight. The two maids were still screaming, and footsteps were already sounding in the hallway.

“Something must have happened in the room.” Dwight quickly assessed Priscilla’s attire. “Don’t go out now. Wait until more people arrive, pretend to be alarmed, and blend into the crowd. Their attention will be on the room. They won’t notice you coming from next door.”

Priscilla was uncertain. “What about you? We’ll just hide here and wait…”

“No.” The young Duke had already quickly considered several possible scenarios and responses after the scream. “If it’s a violent incident, experienced military officers will immediately check the vicinity of the incident site. This room would be the first to be scrutinized.”

He was absolutely right.

The two screaming maids were pulled up from the ground as people from all directions gathered, and the spacious corridor was nearly impassable. Petite Priscilla managed to slip out unnoticed amid the chaos, blending in with several noblewomen who had come in response to the noise.

“What—what’s happening?” she asked.

The doorway to the King’s room was already crowded, making it nearly impossible to push through.

“The Queen! The Queen is dead!” someone at the front screamed in terror.

Before the crowd could react, another voice shouted, “The Queen is alive! There’s another woman—”

“Go find His Majesty!”

“His Majesty isn’t in the room?”

“Find His Majesty!”

The guards struggled to disperse the crowd. Priscilla, concerned for her brother, lingered reluctantly. A guard approached her, and she preemptively said, “I won’t leave until I am sure the King and my husband are safe. I won’t obstruct you, but you must tell me—”

Her words faltered as the Countess stared in astonishment at the tall guard before her. Under the distinctive helmet of a Mokwen palace guard was a sunny and handsome face she knew all too well.

Priscilla quickly stepped back. “I won’t push forward. I’ll just watch from afar. Is that okay?”

It seemed the Countess’ concession persuaded him, and the guard backed away.

Priscilla’s heart pounded as she watched the guard casually lean against the door where the Duke of Brandenburg was hiding, seizing the moment to slip inside. Soon after, two guards came out.

“There’s no one in the next room,” the tall guard told others. “Check the other rooms!”

Priscilla finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Mokwen Palace was lit all night—a sudden murder in the palace prompted King Tifa to summon Duke Baylor, Earl Lestrop, and the Senate to an emergency meeting in the middle of the night.

The council hall was heavily guarded, and no one outside knew what was happening inside.

Queen Christine was finally revived by doctors, but she vehemently denied any involvement with the woman who died in the King’s room, claiming she had been drugged and left there by someone unknown.

That was what she said.

His Majesty’s promiscuity was no secret; even before Queen Christine had joined Mokwen from the Duchy of Lebis, his infamous mistress had already publicly flaunted her relationship with the King, causing the Senate to worry that Mokwen might welcome its first courtesan queen, with even a hotheaded minister considering a death plea to advise King Tifa to banish the too passionate and openly promiscuous Lady Dulie, whose nude paintings had fetched astronomical prices.

However, despite his licentious personal life, King Tifa was quite astute in politics. He took over the marriage arrangements originally belonging to his elder brother, Lamore, after he fell from a carriage and was trampled under the chaotic hooves of warhorses, leaving not even a whole corpse behind.

The Duchy of Lebis wasn’t large in terms of land, but it was rich in minerals, and its natural barriers protected its wealth from prying eyes, making it a powerful ally of the Mokwen Kingdom. Tifa’s marriage to Christine was also one of the main reasons he took up the royal crown.

Such a Queen, regardless of Tifa’s real feelings for her, couldn’t be easily abandoned, given the strong position of the Duchy of Lebis.

“Even if she killed her husband’s mistress in the King’s room?” Shivers, dressed in a Mokwen Kingdom guard uniform, leaned against the wall in a rarely trafficked corner, still keeping an eye on the outside.

Dwight paused.

“The murderer… it’s not certain yet,” he said. “The truth is unclear now. If what everyone sees is the truth, then, as the Queen, she is fully entitled to deal with her husband’s improper relations. The only issue is the identity of the woman who died beside her.”

This statement might seem a bit cruel and unfair, but it was actually very objective.

If the dead woman was a noble, then if the Mokwen royal family wanted to protect Christine (which was very likely), they would need to make some compensation and concessions to the family behind that woman, even if just for appearances, and the Queen would face some punishment. But if the woman was a commoner or lower, her death would be in vain, and afterwards, people would only talk about how the Queen must have been driven mad with anger to have taken action herself.

“So, should we leave?” Shivers asked. “There’s no moon tonight. Most of the guards are concentrated around the King. If we want to escape, now is the best time.”

Regardless of who the real culprit was, it had nothing to do with them. The Duke had already achieved his goal of personally confirming Priscilla’s situation, so the best choice was to quickly leave the palace.

Because once the Queen was declared innocent and Tifa began to investigate the real culprit, the palace would surely be under martial law. They would be like stones among wheat; if anyone conducted a thorough check, they would eventually be exposed.

The Duke fell silent.

Actually, there were many things about this night that he couldn’t understand. For example, why Priscilla went alone to Tifa’s room—as a Countess, such behavior, if seen, could spark rumors of an affair by the next day. Setting aside Tifa and Priscilla’s relationship, Dwight didn’t think his sister hadn’t considered this. Moreover, if Priscilla hadn’t been stopped, would she have entered the room before Christine, and would the suspect confined in the room with the corpse have changed from the Queen to the Countess?

Priscilla and Christine’s simultaneous decisions to go to the scene alone—was it a coincidence, or were they… guided?

Dwight lowered his eyes, his long lashes hiding his murky emotions.

One more thing.

Charlie.

That crazy, secretive rabbit. The map he provided, after sampling and verification, largely matched the actual situation; it was a real map.

But the spot he marked for their meeting was no more than twenty steps away from the King’s room. This was also one of the reasons he was able to stop Priscilla from entering Tifa’s room.

As a group of suspicious figures secretly infiltrating the palace, who, in their right mind, would set a meeting point near the most critical area of the palace?

More importantly, Charlie himself didn’t show up.

Until now, neither Shivers nor he had seen a trace of that rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

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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 26

Clang!

An unexpected scraping sound interrupted the performance of the instrument. The lyrist sitting on the cushion screamed as her lyre was knocked to the ground. Her composed expression twisted as she jumped up in place, utterly lacking in decorum.

Whether on the dance floor or on the sofas, everyone’s attention was drawn to the corner of the disturbance, all bewildered. But soon, another scream erupted—from beneath the pile of exquisite cushions, two frantic rats emerged.

“Rats! How can there be rats?”

“Ah—my dress!”

“Tristina, don’t… oh!”

“My God! What just ran past?!”

The sudden appearance of the rats caused a flurry of screams wherever they went, for their speed was too much for the pampered nobles to avoid. In their panic, many even blocked the rats’ path, nearly dying of fright. Within minutes, a couple of frail ladies had fainted.

A mass panic began to spread uncontrollably—while it was understood that rats were pervasive, even infiltrating palace kitchens, the nobility attending a royal ball would likely never step foot in a kitchen, nor would they know the effort servants made daily to keep such unsightly creatures out of sight.

Ladies in opulent dresses hoisted their skirts, unconcerned about exposing their undergarments, all to furiously stomp and distance themselves from the center of the chaos. The hall’s bright lights also stressed the nocturnal rodents, who scurried aimlessly, occasionally scurrying over polished shoes, triggering even louder screams and roars—this was a time when gentlemen could have drawn their swords to combat the small beasts and rescue the terrified ladies, but this was a banquet, not an arena, and the decorative sheaths beneath their clothing were, in reality, empty of any actual blade.

Frantic servants rushed in with brooms, trying to catch the disruptive rats. Who knows how many times they had cleaned the hall! All the tablecloths and curtains were new; no place could be cleaner than here, yet these rats seemed to appear as if by magic.

As people shoved each other, the well-dressed ladies became quite disheveled—a tall count quickly stopped his wife from being pushed over by a clumsy servant and swiftly led her away from the dance floor. Her skirt was inexplicably stained with wine, the beautiful and dreamy sky blue satin spreading into a purple blotch.

“I’m going back to change clothes.” The Countess clutched to her husband, who was gently patting her chest.

“His Majesty won’t come tonight,” the Count said solemnly. “You don’t need to come back.”

“But…” She looked anxiously back towards the dance floor, where the guards had mostly driven out the rats and the crowd were settling down.

“It’s alright.” The Count gently gathered her loosened hair at her cheek and personally escorted her to the banquet hall door.

The Countess looked up at her husband with a sweet, innocent smile.

“I’ll wait for you.”

The Count smiled back. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be with His Majesty tonight. I’d rather my wife rest a bit more.”

The Countess nodded and left with the help of her maids.

From any angle, the Count was an exceptional husband.

Noble, wealthy, majestic, mature, attentive, and considerate.

In this setting, he even considered that dressing and undressing a noblewoman’s gown was very time-consuming, and having his wife rush back after changing would only waste time and energy.

One could hardly find any flaws in him.

Almost.

The Countess maintained her impeccable, gracious expression until the last second.

As soon as the maids had unlaced her corset, changed her into regular clothes, and left the room respectfully, the mask she had maintained all evening finally fell.

She waited quietly for ten minutes until there was no sound outside the door. Then, the young Countess, wearing soft-soled shoes, quietly opened the door and slipped into the corridor.

She wasn’t familiar with the layout of the palace, but her excellent memory allowed her to recall the floor plan she had seen just once. She hurried through the corridors as quickly and silently as possible, thankful that most people were focused on the evening’s festivities and many guards were redeployed there. Apart from a couple of passing maids, she encountered no obstacles.

Due to her high status, her accommodation in the palace wasn’t far from her destination. After dangerously avoiding two patrols of guards, she finally reached a broad corridor with a large room at the end. The door was closed and unguarded—suggesting it was unoccupied.

Her heart was pounding so hard it almost jumped out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths before approaching the door. Just as she reached out to grab the doorknob, a pair of hands suddenly emerged silently from behind, clamping over her mouth!

The Countess almost fainted from shock at that moment, completely forgetting to struggle, letting the person behind her half-carry and half-drag her into the room next to the large one on the left.

Who would dare abduct the Countess in the palace? Just as this thought flashed through her mind, she heard a woman’s voice from outside the door that wasn’t fully closed.

“Get out!”

Although she heard only two words, the Countess immediately recognized the speaker as the current Queen, Christine.

The Queen?

The Countess looked toward the unsecured door, thinking if she could signal somehow—

“Shh.” The man holding her seemed to sense her thoughts, lowering his head close to her ear.

The Countess’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s me, sister.”

The hand that had been tightly covering her mouth finally loosened, and the Countess trembled all over, hardly daring to turn around.

“How can this be…” she barely managed to utter, tears uncontrollably falling from her eyes, but she was utterly unaware of them.

The young Duke placed his hand on her slender shoulder and gently turned her around.

Though they had been apart for years, the young man’s eyes, inherited from their mother, remained exactly as they had appeared in her dreams. His excessively pale skin and undeniable beauty were unmatched by anyone she had seen since leaving her homeland.

The Countess’s eyelashes trembled. “How are you…”

“I was worried about you, Priscilla.” Dwight’s expression was far colder than his sister’s, but if Eugene and the others were present, they would be shocked by his uncharacteristically gentle tone.

“I…” the Countess began but was immediately cut off by her brother.

The Duke gestured for her to be aware of the outside.

He had intentionally not closed the room’s door completely, and now a thin crack made it easy for passersby to overlook.

They heard Queen Christine scold her maids, ordering them to leave, then she entered the corridor alone.

Priscilla approached the door crack, only catching a glimpse of a skirt flitting by before the Queen entered a large room at the end of the hallway.

“Is that Tifa’s room?” Dwight whispered.

Priscilla hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

The Duke didn’t ask why she had gone to the King’s room alone earlier, but the Countess knew her brother well—he didn’t need to voice his concerns for them to be pressing on his mind.

She should explain, but she hadn’t prepared a convincing excuse. In front of Duke Dwight, anything less than the stark truth would seem like a joke.

However, Dwight didn’t pressure her.

“I’m not here to dictate how you live your life,” the young Duke said. “I just wanted to see you.”

His words softened Priscilla’s heart, but years of etiquette training and sharp political instincts made her immediately conceal her vulnerability, lifting her chin slightly.

In a matter of seconds, she transformed from a lonely, married-away young woman, shocked to see a loved one, back into Priscilla, the reserved, self-controlled noblewoman who hid the grief of her parents’ deaths in her room.

“I didn’t hear you were coming,” she said, looking at Dwight and slowly frowning. “That shouldn’t be…”

Given Duke Dwight’s status, had he come through official channels, not just the royal palace of Mokwen but Priscilla herself should have been informed upon his entry into the continent of Doran.

Her ignorance meant only one thing.

“How did you get here?” Priscilla’s expression changed. “Where are the papers? The knights? What about Shivers?”

By the time she mentioned the last question, her voice had risen uncontrollably.

“I came privately,” the Duke admitted calmly.

“You? You! Whatever your reasons!” Priscilla’s chest heaved dramatically. “You are the head of the Dwight family! How can you disregard your own safety—”

“I’ve grown up, sister,” Dwight said patiently. “I’ll be fine.”

Priscilla glared at him, closing her mouth.

This was as angry as she ever appeared, always so gentle by nature.

Dwight continued, “I’m not here to see him. I came for this.”

He took out a black velvet box. Despite being away from soil and sunlight and after all this time, the rose inside hadn’t wilted, though it had deteriorated somewhat since the last time the rabbit-headed shopkeeper saw it.

The box’s magic, crafted by elves, kept the rose alive, closely linked to the distant lands of Lemena.

Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand.

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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 25

Infiltrating the palace.

Actually, this task wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.

On any continent, the extravagant and vain behavior of the nobility was universal, which led them to employ many inexplicably large amounts of manpower and resources when they gathered.

Dwight had seen with his own eyes a noblewoman who wore a dress to a court ball that required four maids to drag its train—it was at least twenty feet long. Additionally, two other maids had to watch the people around her to prevent them from stepping on the lavish train as the lady turned.

Mokwen’s current king, Tifa, undoubtedly excelled in this pomp; he had people polish the palace ornaments and lay sod and trim hedges two months in advance. He also unnecessarily decorated the fig trees along the main street leading to the palace with colorful metalwork.

Of course, these magnificent decorations set in public places often mysteriously disappeared during the unguarded nights, forcing the officials in charge of external palace decor to exhaust themselves filling in the gaps. Even additional night guards proved ineffective—but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that from two months ago, all sorts of craftsmen and servants had been coming and going from the Mokwen palace. Even the best guards couldn’t possibly keep an eye on every unfamiliar face all the time.

They also disdained remembering the faces of common folk.

For anyone working in the palace, remembering the faces of nobility that one couldn’t afford to offend, under the right circumstances, was a demonstration of capability.

Clerk Lopez was one such capable person.

From a young age, his photographic memory made him stand out among his father’s numerous illegitimate children. Not only was he exceptionally recommended to the Senate as a junior recorder, but he also got many unexpected opportunities.

Like standing at the palace gate to welcome each noble who didn’t reside permanently in the capital during the king’s birthday celebrations.

Although it was a rather respectable job, standing at the palace gate to welcome nobles for several consecutive days was indeed exhausting.

Lopez tried not to think about his swollen, painful feet and made an effort to appear energetic as carriages drove through the gates.

“My Lord,” Lopez greeted as a servant laid down a footstool. “His Majesty the Wise said that his arms would return at the first light of dawn, and he sent me here—”

Perhaps his bow was too perfect. Before he could finish speaking, his glasses, which should have been securely on his nose, slid off suddenly and fell under the carriage.

Silence ensued. The ceremony officer standing guard with him, who was nearly blind, had no idea what had happened. Lopez froze, forgetting even to straighten up.

It felt like half a century passed before a gentle female voice said, “I haven’t seen glasses of that color before. Is it the latest fashion in the capital?”

Lopez snapped back to reality and quickly said, “Some craftsmen from the east came with a type of light tea-colored glass. They say it’s clearer than ordinary glasses.”

“Your eyes are beautiful. I wouldn’t want them to be obscured by anything,” came the voice from above Lopez, seemingly indifferent.

“I’m just asking. I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed in front of other ladies at the dinner…” As the woman spoke, she passed by Lopez and entered the palace gate with the count, followed by servants hurrying behind.

Lopez straightened up, knowing he had made a mistake. If the noble pursued the issue, he might end up building walls the next day.

But the young lady beside him, who had no need to, still spoke up for him.

What a gentle and understanding lady…

Lopez dared to look back but saw only the broad back of a tall man disappearing around the corner, accompanied by a swath of light golden hair.

With ten days until the king’s birthday, the arriving nobles had already lit up the great houses of the capital. Invitations to upper-class social dinners were being distributed relentlessly to all influential nobles, and madams and ladies were painstakingly preparing their gowns and jewels. Gentlemen were discreetly exchanging various pieces of information and rumors. Daily gossip filled all pages of the tabloids… It was as if the social season had arrived early.

But not everyone was enthusiastic about this.

“My Lady, you don’t look very well.” A lady with a very low-cut neckline, which fully displayed a complex and beautiful opal necklace, looked concernedly at the woman beside her. “Is it too stuffy here?”

The woman, who had been absentmindedly staring at the candlelight on the table, came to her senses and smiled, shaking her head. “It’s a bit colder here than in the south, but I’m not so delicate. I just saw the branches of the laurel tree outside moving. The wind tonight is quite strong.”

A few exquisitely made-up women were silent for a moment, then all chuckled in unison, as if they were in a perfume-filled henhouse.

“I don’t think it’s the wind, but someone trying to check their petticoat under the cover of the laurel.” A woman with a high hair bun casually stroked the lace on her skirt. “As far as I know, half the men in the royal city are at Viscount Mori’s tonight, so who could be outside?”

“Oh dear. I wouldn’t know, but I did notice a handsome coachman earlier…” someone teased, dragging out the tone, but only got halfway through.

Half a sentence was enough. Whether it was ‘handsome’ or ‘coachman’ that hit these ladies’ funny bone, they all burst into laughter again.

The garden of the banquet had always been a traditionally agreed place for secret affairs. After the laughter, the topic quickly turned to news of several mages entering the palace.

“It’s not entirely mages. At least three young men are apprentices.” A lady who lived in the capital lowered her voice. “And I heard… they didn’t come for His Majesty’s birthday celebration.”

Her dramatically lowered voice indeed caught the attention of those around her, bringing the gossip circle closer together.

“Strange things have been happening in the palace,” the lady said, covering half her face with her fan. “His Majesty is using the excuse of his birthday to have some mages investigate thoroughly.”

“Lady Mary, what kind of strange things could be happening in the palace?” the lady revealing much of her chest asked dismissively.

Lady Mary lifted her fan slightly. “There are rumors that the king has a new mistress.”

The atmosphere suddenly cooled.

Amid the music and laughter, the sudden silence in their little corner went unnoticed by others.

The young lady, who had been daydreaming, softly spoke up. “Her Majesty the Queen’s beauty makes even the stars in the sky shy away from shining. I believe there must be some misunderstanding.”

Everyone knew this was just polite flattery. There was only one queen, but the king’s number of mistresses had always been limitless. If anything, several of those in this cozy sofa group by the wall had had their flirtations with the king—hardly novel gossip.

The lady’s aim was merely to break the silence, and her bright eyes turned to Lady Mary, clearly waiting for her to continue.

Lady Mary seemed slightly annoyed by the lack of encouragement, but if she were wise, she wouldn’t discuss the king’s private matters openly at such a gathering.

Still, she couldn’t help but retort, “I am a cousin of Her Majesty. Would I speak without confirmation? It’s normal to have one or two mistresses, but what’s odd is that no one knows where these women come from—His Majesty’s bedroom often has unfamiliar long hairs and different scents of perfume, yet even the servants who sleep by the king’s bedroom door haven’t noticed anyone who could have been with the king. Even though there are guards in every corridor at night, no one has seen anyone enter the king’s room. Yet, during the quiet of the night, sounds of playful joy can be heard.”

“The queen has investigated all the maids in the palace, but to no avail. There are no outsiders entering the palace, yet unusual traces are often found in the king’s bedroom. It’s almost like…”

It was almost as if an invisible specter, taking the form of a seductive woman, slipped through the king’s window in the moonlight, disappearing at the first light of dawn.

Royal affairs of the heart could only be discussed ambiguously in dimly lit salon corners. Thanks to the strong-willed Lady Mary, a little prodding was all it took for her to unwittingly provide more details.

For instance, the king’s bedroom actually had a secret compartment behind the bed, covered with light green wallpaper painted with ivy in gold paint. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but a careful touch could reveal the subtle texture that was the switch for the secret compartment. Those emerging from it could easily lift the king’s bed curtains.

Another detail was that the compartment was only the size of a standard closet, the only piece of furniture being a handmade cashmere carpet from Minicia—ensuring silence when walked upon. Another exit led to a hidden staircase, known to no more than three people in the entire palace…

Although the entire palace was decked out in festive decor, the old and quiet tower on the west side of the palace remained grim and dilapidated even after its moss was scrubbed away and new candles were placed. She ascended the slightly damp steps, fine moss, as delicate as down feathers, stubbornly emerging from the square stone wall cracks, seeming to glow green in the dim air.

The area was deserted, silent as the earth before dawn. She couldn’t hear her own footsteps, but her heart throbbed relentlessly, stimulating her brain.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight… She counted her steps carefully, making sure not to sway the lantern in her hand. Noblewomen surrounded by jeweled satin rarely had to walk or climb like this, and before long, she felt her corset squeezing her organs. She paused to let a wave of dizziness pass and rested briefly before continuing upwards.

One hundred and sixty-four.

A turning point appeared on the stone steps, along with an undecorated pine door.

She stopped and listened intently for a while, but silence prevailed. She then pushed open the pine door, and a wave of warm air and fragrance from inside briefly relaxed her tense facial expression.

Behind the pine door indeed lay a small room, and there truly lay a large Minicia handmade carpet, luxurious in pattern and color, a rarity even in the empire.

The only difference from the rumors was that besides the carpet, there was a wooden box in the room, beautifully carved but unlocked.

She set the lantern on the floor and gently touched the box, barely exerting force when the lid lifted slightly.

A low, melodious sound of a Soltrey lyre flowed from within.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 24

The situation started that night two days ago, which was why Eugene, still haunted by what happened, was instinctively drawn to the content loudly read by the newsboy on the street.

“The shopkeeper wanted to avoid going out during the day and asked me to gather information after sunset, but two days ago, I encountered something he hoped to understand from another angle. So I rushed to get the first batch of newspapers printed this morning…” Eugene held the tea cup with both hands, the tea inside already cold.

Finally, surrendering his dignity, Dwight left his room and sat on the only armchair in the room, legs crossed with an air of authority. “‘That incident’?”

Shivers handed the freshly ironed newspaper to the Duke, who skimmed it quickly, throwing it aside afterward, and looked expectantly at Eugene, signaling him to continue.

Eugene took a deep breath.

“I saw it,” he said. “I saw the process of the woman’s death that was written about in the newspaper.”

Strictly speaking, he didn’t “see” it fully, but he was involved to some extent in the murder case that had spread throughout the streets and alleys.

At the time, Eugene had left the small tavern in the chill of midnight, chasing after the kid who stole his wallet, completely unprepared to stumble upon a murder in the dark alley infested with vermin.

When it happened, Eugene and the kid were in a delicate position, close enough to almost hear the murderers’ vague conversations, yet hidden from their view, even in the light of their lanterns, where Eugene could see their shadows cast on the wall across from him.

The pickpocket, thinking himself worldly, was just a naive kid who nearly bolted out upon smelling a hint of blood, thinking his dog was harmed. So Eugene had to firmly grasp him—he had spent most of his life dealing with schemes and dangers, and the reason he could still sit and drink tea unharmed was his acute sense of crisis, which was better than anyone else’s.

Almost instantly, he realized the sticky stench in the air couldn’t possibly come from a dog. If the smell was this horrifying, the victim was undoubtedly human and beyond saving.

His judgment proved correct. The nauseating smell of blood grew thicker by the minute, as if solidifying in the stagnant air, accompanied by coarse whispers. Without making any significant movements or casting shadows, Eugene silently leaned against the wall, his heart racing, feeling the kid he held trembling.

He couldn’t make out the whispers clearly, but they differed from the local dialect, spoken quickly and abruptly, more akin to the northern highland style. Just by those muffled, grumbling conversations, he could visualize at least two burly men standing there, ready to snap the neck of even a passing crow if spotted.

For nearly an hour, the two real bystanders stood against the wall until they were certain the people beyond wouldn’t return. Only then did Eugene release the kid’s hand.

Then he did the second right thing.

He stopped the kid who wanted to circle around to see what had happened, commanding him in harsh tones to wait there while he cautiously peered out himself.

Even years later, after countless brushes with death and personal experiences on battlefields, the memory of what Eugene saw in that alley would involuntarily make him shudder.

It wasn’t the fear of the disfigured limbs or unrecognizable face, visible even in the darkness, nor the chunks of flesh, blood, and unknown organs scattered around. It was the terror, shock, and tragedy of the scene.

It wasn’t the result of a fight or a swift murder, but a thorough, torturous, human-made hell.

The Duke, after hearing Eugene’s account, slowly said, “So, a woman was killed in an alley. And Charlie wanted you to tell me specifically, hoping we could report this atrocity to the city guard?”

In Doran’s current state of royal conflicts, countless lives were claimed under various circumstances, and as stowaways, they were powerless to do anything for the woman.

The Duke’s reaction was entirely within the shopkeeper’s expectations.

Eugene struggled to delve back into the memories of that horrific night, forced to relive the distressing recollections whenever he closed his eyes.

“That woman’s abdomen was cut open,” Eugene added. “I thought the murderers took pleasure in torturing her, but the shopkeeper suspects they might have had other motives.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Given the mess… ‘they’ seemed almost to be searching for something inside the woman’s body.”

A woman’s abdomen split open.

Unless she had swallowed something not meant for her, what else could be hidden inside a human’s body cavity?

Only an unborn life—also a human.

Shivers frowned deeply, and Columbus was stunned. Reading about a murder in the newspaper was different from hearing a witness account. Eugene’s description made his hair stand on end—if he had any.

Before the Duke could ponder further, Eugene added, “There’s another problem.”

All eyes in the room turned to him. Columbus sat tensely on his armchair, leaning forward with anticipation.

“The accent of those speaking was quite distinctive.” Eugene paused, then uttered a phrase in a somewhat awkward manner.

His life of constant turmoil had honed many practical skills in him, and learning dialects was the best and fastest way to blend into the local underclass. Eugene had a bit of a knack for it. He could roughly mimic any language he had heard—not by truly learning it immediately, but by mimicking its intonation, speed, and phrase breaks to achieve a sound that, at first listen, was very similar.

Hearing this accent, the faces of Dwight and Shivers almost changed at the same time. The Duke seemed thoughtful, while the Knight Commander’s expression turned cold.

“It’s the Lion’s men,” Shivers said with some disgust.

Columbus: “??? What, what?”

But no one paid him any attention.

Dwight said, “Where is that rabbit head? Have him come see me.”

Eugene was almost impressed by Charlie’s masterful planning. He had almost guessed the Duke’s reaction perfectly!

“The shopkeeper told me to give this to you if I found you.” Eugene struggled to pull a tightly rolled tube of paper from the innermost pocket of his coat.

“What’s this?” Shivers took it, puzzled.

“If you’re caught with this, you’d be beheaded immediately.” Eugene immediately recalled what the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said when he handed this to him—the terrible thing was the other person’s expression was extremely solemn.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said dejectedly. He had never dared to open it.

Back on his old turf in Dogus, who hadn’t heard of “Eugene the Dirk“? He considered himself a seasoned tough character, having briefly mingled in the underworld and then turned into a freewheeling thief, familiar with plenty of double-dealing and danger. But compared to engaging in fierce battles, the way Duke Dwight and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper dealt with murder and death threats—with an air of casual seriousness, but clearly not joking—was even more terrifying to him.

Had he unwittingly boarded a tremendously dangerous ship?

Lately, Eugene couldn’t help thinking this.

Shivers unrolled the cylinder. The ink was bent, and before it was fully unfolded, anyone could see it was a hand-drawn map.

“This is…” Shivers said incredulously, “A map of the palace? Where did he get this?”

Dwight scanned it quickly. The map’s succinct strokes outlined all the entrances, exits, rooms, and courtyards of the palace—a military-grade map if there ever was one.

In a small room in the northwest corner of the palace, a particular pattern was drawn with red ink. It was tiny, but its simplicity made the contours of the long ears and high-top hat easily recognizable.

The message was clear: I’ll be waiting for you here.

The young Duke’s face showed no emotion, but his mind was in turmoil.

He knows my plan.

He knows if Priscilla comes to the capital with her husband, I plan to infiltrate King Tifa’s palace to find her.

While logically this was the most efficient approach, and it wasn’t surprising that Charlie could guess this, the Duke still felt uncomfortable about the other calculating his behavior patterns.

This was already quite a mild thought. At this time, those in power cherished being seen as dignified and inscrutable, especially influential nobles, who rarely showed their true characteristics, lest their opponents deduce their styles of action.

But oddly, the Duke’s primary concern wasn’t that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had presumed to deduce his actions. What bothered him more was that the rabbit seemed to have been observing and understanding him all along. Conversely, for the Duke, Charlie remained much of a mystery, with each of his actions often puzzling.

Being studied and analyzed was upsetting to the Duke, although he couldn’t pinpoint the source of this irritation.

---

The author has something to say:

Indeed, Eugene lacked the Duke’s noble birth and the shopkeeper’s worldly experience, but even the little guys have their strengths and can improve.

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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 23

Geoffrey knelt on the icy cobblestone street, coughing so hard that his little face was contorted. When he saw a pair of feet stop in front of him, he looked up pitifully.

“Sir,” he gasped, “did I disturb you…?”

“Are you alright?” The foreigner helped him up and even patted off the dirt on his body.

“I’m just very hungry,” Geoffrey said timidly.

“Are you hungry?” The foreigner’s brown eyes showed a hint of distress.

Geoffrey almost couldn’t control his urge to laugh out loud, but the next moment he heard the other man say, “But the money you took from my purse should be enough to buy several loaves of bread, right?”

Geoffrey’s face changed color, realizing that his arm was firmly grasped in the other’s hand.

“I checked just now, and the purse isn’t on you,” the foreigner said casually. “Did you tie it to a dog?”

Geoffrey didn’t dare to look up. “Sir, what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it.” The man’s tone wasn’t harsh, but his words made Geoffrey tremble with fear. “Your little partner is so obedient. It must love you very much. If it doesn’t find you at the agreed-upon place, it will surely come looking for you, right? After all, a dog’s nose is very sensitive. You see, killing a person requires a bit of mental preparation, but killing a dog requires none at all. It’s still cold out. Have you heard how dog meat should be cooked to taste good? I might need to buy some mint…”

“No!” Being just a child under ten years old, Geoffrey quickly pleaded for mercy. “Please forgive me… I’ll return the things to you. Please forgive me!”

“I am not an unreasonable person,” the foreigner smiled. “You just shouldn’t have tried to rob me. When I was your age…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Geoffrey, firmly grasped by him, had no choice but to lead the man forward. The old district was like a decaying spider web. Just two streets in, and there were no more streetlights. If Geoffrey could escape for just five seconds and darted into any alley, given the complexity of the roads and the darkness, no one would find him again. But the man’s grip was tight, and Geoffrey found no opportunity. As they got closer to his hideout, Geoffrey deliberately slowed his steps, about to say something, when suddenly the man behind him pulled him back.

A grown man and a child stopped in the pitch-dark alley. Geoffrey was about to speak when his mouth was suddenly covered. Forced against the cold, damp wall, he instinctively tried to struggle, but found himself tightly restrained, unable to compete with an adult man. He could only allow himself to be half-carried, half-dragged forward—this almost combat-ready action came very suddenly, but Geoffrey almost immediately realized it was not directed at him.

Before they could leave the alley, he smelled something odd.

A faint, damp smell of blood mixed with the alcohol scent from the foreigner’s palm, both carried together by the night wind into his nose.

On a moonless night, ordinary human eyes could hardly see much without light, but other senses became surprisingly sensitive.

Like sound and smell.

Geoffrey heard some broken voices, almost sure they came from about thirty steps away in Willow Lane, just around the corner from his private base.

But this was strange because Willow Lane was a dead end, just a corner formed by neighboring uneven houses. It had a name because the previous officer wanted to solve the problem of drunks relieving themselves and residents dumping trash there. It was an aborted plan that now only left a row of exceedingly narrow awnings, and even in daylight, it was almost the darkest corner.

Who was there?

Geoffrey’s heart pounded wildly. The blood smell in front of them was clearly stronger than here, and as he strained to decipher what those people were saying, the foreigner suddenly pushed him into his coat, completely cutting off the already faint voices.

“Why can’t I go down?” Columbus sat by the window, desolately peering through the glass at the newsboys below. “There must be big news… Ah, is that Eugene?”

At a street corner, a newsboy was surrounded by a crowd of mostly well-dressed gentlemen and several servants buying newspapers for their masters. A man in a wool shawl loudly said to those around him, “When that woman was found, her belly was slit open—it could be a wild beast…”

“How could there be wild beasts in the city?” The man beside him couldn’t help but argue. “These days are not peaceful. We shouldn’t let women go out after dark.”

Eugene, his face half-covered with a scarf to discreetly mask his darker skin compared to the locals, managed to buy a newspaper successfully. But then, a stone, seemingly from nowhere, hit his headscarf hard enough to startle him.

He looked up and saw the familiar bright colors of the tin soldier through a window across the street.

“Can painted eyes see especially far?” Eugene grumbled hoarsely as he entered the building, impatiently unwrapping his headscarf and heaving a deep breath. “I thought a bird had landed on my ear…”

“Eugene!” The tin soldier who opened the door for him was exuberant. “It was me who spotted you! But the stone was thrown by Shivers!

The tall Knight Commander smiled and motioned for Columbus to close the door. “What’s the matter? Wandering the streets in broad daylight?”

Eugene sneaked a glance at the tightly closed bedroom door, thinking but not daring to say aloud, “The highly sought-after beauty isn’t me.”

Who knows which noble’s mind was heated by rumors. Since the Duke of Brandenburg entered the city, the inn had been subjected to soldier inspections twice. These days, it was difficult even for Dwight to step out of his room without concealing his face, much less think of leaving the city by any route, which only added to the Duke’s irritation.

“Eugene! Where’s Charlie?” Columbus circled Eugene as if the shopkeeper was hidden in Eugene’s coat.

“We’ve rented two rooms at ‘Full Moon’ in Dog Tail’s Alley,” Eugene quickly explained. “The shopkeeper asked me to wander around the city tonight, trying to keep a low profile as we get closer to the witch’s domain.”

Since arriving in Doran, Charlie had indeed toned down his usually flamboyant demeanor and rarely left the carriage—Columbus was the same. It seemed that no matter what was said, he was quite wary of Elena and didn’t want to expose himself prematurely.

To Eugene, however, staying confined to a room, with food delivered only to the door, seemed overly cautious.

But Eugene didn’t voice this thought either—somehow, despite the shopkeeper’s friendly demeanor, which was a stark contrast to the ever-critical and temperamental Duke, Eugene felt an inexplicable respect for him. When Charlie arranged tasks with a kindly but firm tone, Eugene followed without questioning.

Shivers, however, agreed with the shopkeeper’s approach. In fact, while the Duke of Brandenburg was confined to the inn, he and Eugene played roles in gathering information, though due to different backgrounds, their methods and locales varied significantly, as did the restrictions they faced.

But some information didn’t require deep integration into the crowds.

“Although the plans have deviated slightly from the original track, this trip isn’t without merit,” said the tall Knight Commander. “In fact, it was fortunate we passed through the capital, as everyone here is discussing how, from Cross Street to the royal palace, the area is beginning to be militarized in preparation for the arrival of dignitaries.”

Columbus added, “Because of the king’s birthday! All the nobles will come to the capital, bringing wines, gems, precious silks, and the finest dwarven crafts—this is King Tifa’s third birthday since his coronation, and I’ve heard the previous two were very, very lively.”

The little tin soldier, with his painted features, looked forward with anticipation as if he could already see the streets filled with flowers, the grand processions moving from Cross Street to the palace, and beautiful young women in their finest clothes singing and dancing, filling the air with the scents of noblewomen’s powders and exotic spices.

Eugene poured himself tea and finally settled into a high-backed wooden chair. “I heard about this too. That’s why the shopkeeper wanted me to find you quickly. If things go smoothly, we could save a lot of time and effort. He was worried you might get stuck in some corner, avoiding the soldier’s inspections.”

“A city guard doesn’t have that much power, although the innkeeper did face some questioning. But when it comes to control over the capital, no one can exceed the king,” Shivers said calmly. “As long as we act discreetly, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Actually, Dwight himself didn’t take the absurd “wanted” situation seriously. If it had been an order from the king himself, it might have posed a real problem, but as a city guard, especially during King Tifa’s birthday, the motives were transparent to the Duke and the Knight Commander.

“So, we’ll decide to stay in the capital for now,” Shivers declared. “Until—”

He paused, noticing that Eugene stiffened slightly at the mention of staying.

“…What’s wrong?” Shivers asked.

In the past, in Lemena, someone of Shivers’ status and position would never have crossed paths with a lowly thief like Eugene, let alone observed him so closely.

But since Eugene joined their journeying party, even though Duke Dwight routinely mocked him, the young lord mocked everyone, so in a way, he treated Eugene no differently than others, not as a slave or an inferior servant. Though uneducated, greedy, and vulgar, Eugene wasn’t entirely without merit; he was stubborn, loyal, and often a bit foolish—but overall, not a bad person.

Thus, Shivers unconsciously began to see Eugene as one of their own, perhaps without even realizing how much he had changed along the way.

Eugene hesitated for a moment.

The tin soldier also sensed something and ran up to him. “Eugene, what happened?”

“About this matter, the shopkeeper wanted me to explain it personally to the Duke.” Eugene lowered his head, hiding his expression under his unkempt, shaggy beard.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 22

The handsome Duke of Brandenburg was unaware of the increasingly wild rumors about him, but one thing he could be sure of was that his plan to “remain inconspicuous due to being understaffed” had utterly failed.

This could not be entirely attributed to the Duke’s misjudgment of the situation, but rather to the differences between the two continents being even greater than he had anticipated.

Centralized power in Pennigra was well-established, with occasional friction between kingdoms but no large-scale warfare.

Under complex circumstances, the various kingdoms of Doran, even in peaceful times, had stricter checks on population movement than expected.

Dwight had been very discreet throughout his journey, not caring much for pomp except for essentials, and he would cover himself completely with a cloak when leaving the carriage. No one expected that every gate in Syriacochi would have soldiers who thoroughly interrogated and registered visitors, and no masked entries were allowed to prevent spies from infiltrating. Once he had to reveal his face unwillingly, a young soldier was visibly stunned by his appearance, attracting the attention of his colleagues. Although he quickly pulled his hood back on and the shopkeeper and Shivers swiftly signed all documents, they could still see many curious onlookers squeezed towards the gate as their carriage passed through.

Dwight himself was surprised by the commotion his face could cause. As a noble heir born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he rarely appeared before the common folk. Even when surveying his domain, most wouldn’t dare look directly at him. As for the praises he had grown tired of hearing among the nobility since childhood, the Duke always thought they were somewhat exaggerated due to the flamboyant flattery typical of nobility. In other words, he knew he was good-looking, but he didn’t realize to what extent.

Seeing the situation turn chaotic upon entering the city, Shivers made a decisive call, leaving both carriages and most of their luggage with the shopkeeper. He and the fully armed Duke then left the group and blended into the bustling streets.

Around a dim gas lamp, insects continuously swirled, and several spiders hurried across the smoke-darkened wooden beams above. Below, a few burly men sat around a square table playing cards, their bodies emitting a strong smell of sweat, mixed with the perfume of two women leaning over to watch, and the scent of cheap malt beer, fried fish, and cheese in the air, enough to deter any remotely decent lady from stepping foot in this tavern.

But the other patrons seemed not to care, sitting in pairs or groups in corners, either whispering together or joining a gambling table. It wasn’t even eight in the evening yet; although it was already dark, many had just extinguished the forges or closed their barn doors and hurried out to find a place to pass the time.

A man in a drab cloak was also drawn to the rowdy gambling at the center of the tavern. His command of the common tongue was poor, but his card-playing skills were solid. He turned five copper coins into a significant win. The biggest blacksmith, Knytt, however, lost miserably tonight.

“Where are you from, stranger?” Knytt glared at the other’s shuffling hands, ready to catch even the slightest hint of cheating, swearing to himself that he’d twist this guy’s neck like wringing a chicken.

The stranger shrugged and named a place in his broken common language, which Knytt had never heard of.

“Ah, is it ‘Fornbey’?” A woman guessed based on his pronunciation. “I had an aunt married off there. It’s very, very far.”

The stranger nodded and smiled at her.

To be honest, this man looked young with a pair of brown eyes and a decent physique. Unlike the others, his beard wasn’t unkempt, and he didn’t have the sweat smell typical of Knytt and the others. He was rather lucky, having won quite a bit.

If he weren’t a foreigner, Tina would have been more eager to do business with him.

Unfortunately… Knytt and his group weren’t the type to be broad-minded.

He appeared to be a skilled card player and won another two rounds. More and more people gathered around the table, and a plump woman plopped down next to the foreigner, clinging to his arm. She was no longer young—at least five or six years older than Tina—and though heavily made-up, the fatigue at the corners of her eyes couldn’t be hidden by the dim light of the tavern.

“Tina, your rival’s here,” a man teased. “Martina, better go to bed early. Tina’s here tonight, and I see her nails are quite sharp!”

Tina flicked an eyelid but said nothing.

Martina might had been popular once, but a woman’s prime was both short and cruel. Now that Tina was there, who would spare Martina a second glance?

A few men who knew them chuckled.

This woman must be getting desperate, trying to seduce an unknown foreigner without even caring about his background. Ridiculous. When would she understand that this was no longer her place to stay?

Tina’s lips, brightly painted, twisted, and she gave Martina a scornful look, which was returned with equal defiance—Tina maliciously thought she should wait outside to see if she could catch a drunk by midnight.

Unexpectedly, the foreigner didn’t push Martina away but didn’t take the opportunity to embrace her either. His attention seemed entirely focused on the cards in his hands—he won again.

“It seems I have the Goddess of Victory by my side,” he said slowly.

Tina laughed heartily. “How are you so lucky? Are you cheating?”

The atmosphere froze for a moment but quickly returned to normal. The foreigner blinked, puzzled, as if he hadn’t understood Tina’s rapid speech.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” a particularly tall man said harshly, though his eyes stayed fixed on the foreigner.

Martina gave Tina a challenging look, feeling a bit anxious, but the foreigner beside her remained composed. He understood the phrase “Goddess of Victory”, indicating he didn’t mind her sitting there.

Unfortunately, the foreigner’s luck turned mixed in the next hour. Just when Knytt thought he would take all the money from the foreigner in one go, the foreigner stopped playing.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He took out all the money from his pockets, offering to buy all the men present a malt beer and the ladies a glass of wine, specifically requesting an extra helping of broth and bread for his ‘Goddess of Victory’ Martina.

Since he turned his pockets inside out quite honestly, everyone saw that the man really had no more money left—his clothes didn’t have any valuable accessories either, so they let him leave the gambling table graciously.

Martina seemed to like him and quietly asked if he wanted to go for a walk, but the man gestured towards the gambling table, indicating he wanted to continue watching.

Knytt seemed to have his luck returned by the foreigner and started winning money. The pub grew even more crowded, attracting stray dogs and what looked like a street child who, thanks to his small size, went unnoticed as he scurried under tables, hoping to pick up scraps of bread that had fallen to the floor.

But good luck often didn’t last long; soon enough, a lady screamed, loudly complaining about her skirt being dirtied. The muscular tavern owner came out from behind the bar with a thunderous expression, unceremoniously shoving both the people and dogs out, kicking them a few times for good measure. A skinny child seemed to have been kicked in the stomach, squatting outside the door coughing loudly, but no one in the tavern gave him a second glance, except for the penniless foreigner. He glanced at the child, seemingly with a bit of pity, and, with difficulty, stood up from his crowded seat to walk out.

Since his pockets were already empty, Knytt just glanced up at him and then returned his attention to the gambling table. Martina, however, pulled at his sleeve and whispered something about how those little brats were all faking it and not worth pitying. No one knew if the foreigner understood, but he left anyway.

Tina scoffed.

“Why don’t you lift your skirt and chase after him? After all, the bread he bought you could last a whole night, right?”

Martina’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped, “Mind your own business, Tina.”

“Oh, sorry, did I underestimate? Should it be three nights? After all, you’ve been depreciating badly since three years ago.”

The surrounding crowd burst into laughter, and Martina’s face turned red with fury, her ample chest heaving with each breath.

But she didn’t stand up to leave.

Normally, Tina wouldn’t bother targeting Martina, but tonight was different.

Tina couldn’t quite say what it was, but facing a clearly struggling Martina, the man didn’t show the same brazen mockery as Knytt and others. He even slightly defended her, a kind of respect for women that almost resembled the manners of higher society—but in some hidden corner, Tina was also annoyed that he hadn’t given her more attention and was so kind to Martina instead.

Women were such complex and contradictory creatures, but overall, Tina didn’t want this strange foreigner to die, so she gave him a hint when he kept winning. If he had continued to draw attention, then after he left the tavern alone, Knytt and the others would have silently dragged him into an alley, and only in the morning would the early water carrier discover another unrecognizable body in a corner of Syriacochi.

What a foolish man.

Tina thought, probably very young and too tender-hearted. But it was good he left early; getting tricked by those street urchins and scoundrels at least meant his life wasn’t in danger—everyone knew that every seemingly homeless child in Syriacochi might belong to a dirty gang of con artists, using their youthful appearance to commit crimes. But foreigners didn’t know that.

So these fools deserved to be duped.

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