Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 46

Charlie’s shirt sleeves were rolled up high as he stared at the comfortable back of the head in front of him, unable to suppress a flare of irritation.

Although he knew that nobility—especially old-fashioned aristocrats like Dwight, who had inherited their titles for nearly three centuries—had long since lost traits like “shame” and “politeness” through the sieve of time, when the Duke haughtily ordered him to rearrange the bathroom to his liking and took it for granted that he should wash his hair, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt a slight urge to slam the desk lamp onto that glittering golden head.

Resigned to the idea that the one who pays calls the shots, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mentally prepared himself and humiliatingly rolled up his sleeves. Still, the Duke was hardly satisfied, claiming that “since birth he had never been bathed by anyone but young maids with unblemished skin and soft hands that never calloused. After leaving his estate, first by the coarse-handed Shivers and now by Rabbit Head, barely even human—if his grandfather and father were still alive, they certainly wouldn’t forgive his fall from grace.”

Charlie listened expressionlessly to Dwight’s picky rant, thinking to himself that God truly is fair. While giving this lord a face sharp enough to be considered a weapon, He also seemed to have stripped away any likable aspect of his personality.

The Duke of Brandenburg didn’t need to look back to know that Rabbit Head wasn’t in a good mood. Rather than being oblivious to social cues—which wasn’t an option for the Dwight family—he was probably doing it on purpose.

Ever since their bizarre encounter with the Lamp Bearers, he noticed a subtle and delicate shift in the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s perpetually unflappable demeanor. His emotional changes became more direct, more outward, more controllable, albeit only slightly.

So, the mischievously inclined Duke developed a new game: trying various methods to make that furry façade crumble—whether through fear, worry, or anger.

But this guy was more tolerant than he expected. While he anticipated that the shopkeeper would agree to bathe him, provoking him with grandiose talk clearly wasn’t effective.

But it didn’t matter. It was still enough to amuse the Duke.

As long as Dwight kept quiet, his presence was a picture that was hard to look away from.

His normally well-kept light golden hair had grown a bit longer and hung in a more compliant manner when wet.

Charlie hooked a finger around a crystal bottle, expertly pouring out the powder within and mixing it with fragrant oil before applying it to the hair, starting to knead it in.

Regardless of his inner thoughts, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s movements were as gentle as ever. He seemed to have a knack for massaging the scalp. The way his knuckles pressed brought a pleasurable sensation that traveled from Dwight’s spine up to the top of his head, almost raising goosebumps.

The Duke opened his eyes, and the fuzzy reflection of that Rabbit Head in the stained-glass window opposite the bathtub was impressively proficient.

Dwight couldn’t help but recall how every woman who the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had struck up a conversation with since their time in Maplewood and now in this inn had ended up giggling endlessly, and he snorted softly through his nose.

Charlie found the Duke’s behavior utterly baffling but maintained a polite and puzzled demeanor.

“Well done,” Dwight unexpectedly praised him. “Is the popularity of your general store among women due to these skills?”

Across the continents, leveraging charm and tact in business wasn’t uncommon, but that didn’t mean there was less disdain for these methods.

22 Paulownia Street certainly didn’t gain its reputation by pleasing women, but with just a few inches of rabbit fur on his head, other than getting enough practice on women’s long hair, the Duke couldn’t think of any other possibility.

“Ah, that’s not it,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper cheerfully replied. “My neighbor, Mr. Fran, has several long-haired dogs. I help him bathe them when he’s too busy.”

The Duke refused to speak to him until lunchtime the next day.

Charlie wasn’t particularly bothered by the lack of conversation. After all, apart from mockery and orders, only someone suffering from Stockholm syndrome like Shivers would enjoy their interactions.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked for several newspapers and a cup of strong tea from the innkeeper, sitting alone in his room to reassess his situation and plan.

While carefree farmers and pampered nobles might live each day untroubled, for those who must carefully navigate a path through hidden traps, maintaining a clear head and avoiding every possible mistake was key to survival.

Charlie wasn’t overly concerned about Columbus’ whereabouts, as strictly speaking, this was Columbus’ homeland.

Although Columbus’ naturally cheerful and lively demeanor sometimes made the tin soldier seem a bit reckless, after so many years living together with the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, he wasn’t short on wits or experience. As long as he was unimpeded, years of tacit understanding would enable them to find each other.

In contrast, the disappearance of Elena was more troubling to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. The curse on Columbus was increasingly hard to suppress, which didn’t mean that the witch’s power had suddenly grown stronger; rather, the strength of the curse was gradually weakening over time.

However, a weakening curse didn’t mean it would disappear. The little tin soldier seemed like a vessel for a soul created in violation of natural laws, and his body kept him from sickness and injury, even granting him additional life. The curse’s power was the adhesive holding it all together.

But just like living beings, artificial creations also had a lifespan, and when the glue holding the parts together began to fail, the vessel would crumble and collapse.

Even at this point, the shopkeeper hadn’t found a good solution to this problem.

Not to mention whether Elena’s hatred for him had slightly dissipated enough to cooperate, what if Elena suddenly had a change of heart and became utterly loyal to Charlie? Would that be enough to break the curse? No god could conjure a new body for Columbus out of thin air.

Reinforcing or improving the existing curse? Charlie could manage that on his own. Otherwise, Columbus wouldn’t have been able to live safely in Pennigra for so many years without the witch’s influence. But if the foundation was already shaky, reinforcing it would only be a temporary fix.

Fixing it himself or having Elena do it would only extend the collapse from three months to six months. Charlie absentmindedly played with his teacup, the deep sense of exhaustion making him sigh heavily.

Leaving Pennigra to come to Doran was extremely dangerous for him, and Columbus knew this, which made him feel guilty. Charlie decided to clear his mind of these thoughts and switch to his employer’s perspective, trying to piece together the clues from this journey.

The Mokwen royal family was more chaotic than he expected. The fact that the King and the Earl’s families were at odds was practically written on the city walls, and one of the main players was Duke Dwight’s sister. If he didn’t grasp the inside story, it was unlikely that the headstrong lord would plan on returning home.

But aimlessly waiting around wasn’t the Duke’s style. Even with his identity carefully concealed, staying one more day meant more danger. A competent leader wouldn’t carelessly put himself at risk, so Dwight must have other plans and contingencies, but he wouldn’t confide them in Charlie. This was understandable. Charlie also kept things from him. This mutually beneficial yet uncomfortable arrangement was as convenient as it was irritating.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sighed deeply again.

He had left Doran for a long time, taking care not to leave any traces for safety reasons. If he wanted to avoid disturbing old friends and act independently, ample funds were crucial.

Aside from that, reliable and discreet information wasn’t cheap anywhere. If their lovable little Cici were with them, perhaps they could rely on the Fox family, but the Fox family wasn’t foolish enough to let someone so naive run around in a dangerous place like this, so they had to deal with the more cunning and three-gutted Yitzfa.

Someone like him could only be handled by a wealthy and unflinching Duke like Dwight. Charlie’s years of running a business had brought some stability, but he couldn’t freely use money as Dwight did.

He refocused on the Mokwen royal family.

The bizarre death of a woman in the King’s bedroom, the murder Eugene encountered in the alley, the maid at Thorn Manor, and—different local tabloid reports. Charlie’s big, round rabbit eyes stared at the now-cold teacup, deep in thought.

This clearly wasn’t right. In tumultuous times, death often loomed in the shadows, but the events they encountered still seemed abnormal, with a high frequency of women—especially young women—meeting tragic ends.

Both women and children, whether in times of peace or war, were valuable population resources. From households and villages to entire kingdoms and alliances, they were protected from conflict and warfare.

So, this unusually frequent and wide-ranging death of women felt like a coal chunk in a bowl of sugar, glaringly out of place…

No, something’s off! Charlie sat up straight.

Because Doran didn’t have the strong empire alliance like Pennigra, news between its various kingdoms and regions was closed off and difficult to flow. Given their lack of legal status and specific objectives, traversing multiple locations in a short time, most common mercenary groups and bandits wouldn’t notice the small local newspapers or tabloid scandals.

This indicated that nothing was a coincidence or an accident but was simply not yet noticed! But why? The dead women were either prostitutes or rural farm girls, with the common trait of low status, and all quite young. The King’s mistress was pregnant, but the Mokwen royal family was so large and complex that even replacing a Queen wouldn’t allow a low-born, illegitimate child to ascend the throne.

Charlie rubbed his face, trying to uncover the source of his uneasiness.

The brutal murder Eugene witnessed, with a mutilated body, symbolized pregnancy in a disturbing way… Could all those women have an overt or covert connection to pregnancy?

The young maids recruited by Thorn Manor were also of childbearing age… Thinking of the carriage dragging body bags through the woods, Charlie unconsciously tightened his grip on his pen.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 45

“So, they were chased so desperately, not just because they eloped?”

The little tin soldier, riding on the back of an old goat, interjected, “No! Because they stumbled upon an even more sinister secret!”

He then became worried. “Emily is strong, but Tom really cries a lot. Are they okay? They will be okay, right?”

“I gave them enough money to leave the country,” said the boy with a baby face, grumbling. “Thinking about it now, it was kind of impulsive… Do you really have a way to find your boss?”

Columbus looked at him. “No. So you should go.”

“Hey! I helped you guys get rid of that group of farmers, and even contributed a lot of money—” the boy shouted. “Otherwise, just with you, a few sheep, and dogs, could you have beaten those people?”

Columbus immediately fell silent.

“Anyway, you owe me money.” The boy poked the little tin soldier’s head with his finger. “Don’t think of ditching me before you pay me. By the way, what is this evil secret you mentioned?”

At this, Columbus became animated. “That manor—where Emily escaped from—its owner is dabbling in black magic!”

The boy: “……”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “I thought it was something earth-shattering. What’s so strange about black magic?”

Black magic was strictly forbidden on any continent in a broad sense, but it also varied by degree. Using items like black cats, crows, and the souls of the dead was black magic, as was using dead bodies, blood sacrifices, or even names to communicate with hidden beings. But even witches, who were shunned by most, rarely dared to openly declare their study of the latter.

The difference was, the former was merely ominous, while the latter was purely evil. Either way, both were officially banned, especially in nations protected by the church, where people of status, even nobles, weren’t allowed to engage in or even discuss the dark arts.

That said, thoughts were always the hardest thing to control and scrutinize, so people had secretly used black magic to fulfill their desires since ancient times, including some from the nobility, despite all prohibitions.

The owner of Thorn Manor, although not a noble, owned land and property, and was considered wealthy in the kingdom without other assets.

It wasn’t surprising that such people turn to black magic. When wealth accumulated to a certain level, they instinctively sought a change in class and status, something that couldn’t be achieved by effort alone in conservative and closed countries. Even if one could rise from the bottom to immense wealth, it would be difficult to gain even the title of Baron.

Marrying into a declining noble family was one way, but even if successful, it brought empty prestige, hardly accepted by the mainstream nobility—like buying loneliness. Even the lowest servants would feel that purchased titles were fundamentally different from inherent nobility.

These desires, hard to fulfill by normal means, could potentially be met through the evil of black magic, which excelled in seduction. If one could hypnotize those in power, not only titles but also status and wealth, and in the future, any wants could be effortlessly gained. In fact, every century had rumors of a family rising improperly. These rumors attracted all sorts of people, like moths to a flame, all desperately striving for more.

“That kind of black magic is particularly evil,” Columbus said in a low voice. “Emily said, there are many terrible rumors about Thorn Manor, half of which are true.”

Especially in recent years, more and more people had disappeared from the mansion, but oddly, there was always a new supply of young and healthy girls. This horrific cycle, though not openly discussed, always left traces that couldn’t be completely hidden.

Because of this, the mansion rarely recruited girls from the estate, as these were serfs who had served the master’s family for generations. Though they had no right to refuse or resist, the gaps they left weren’t easily filled, so almost all who disappeared were “outsiders.”

A few capable people from the estate were assigned to work around the manor and would hint to their families not to discuss or pry into matters occurring there.

Emily was also of serf origin, but for some reason, was promoted to work inside the manor this year.

Her brother disapproved, but her father, hoping against hope, believed that girls from the manor were different from “outsiders”, thinking Emily was just there to work and might not encounter anything bad—after all, they had no room to refuse.

Emily, a determined girl, knew she couldn’t change her fate but also refused to sit idly by.

The people at the manor probably didn’t expect someone who came from the estate like Emily to think this way, and indeed, she secretly discovered the fact that the manor’s master and his wife were using young girls for some evil ritual. However, her actions raised suspicions, and the decisive girl, before the master could take measures against her, eloped with her fiancé, who had gathered the courage to come for her—both having grown up in the estate, they stumbled upon Columbus hanging in the middle of a tree stump during their chaotic escape and encountered the orchard incident, almost running into a dead end but unexpectedly meeting the real fruit thief with a baby face.

The baby-faced, but shrewd thief, thinking the farmer was after him, knocked out a bunch unwittingly, and they managed to escape, later realizing he was the one accidentally involved.

But since he had already beaten them and was impressed by Emily and Tom’s courageous spirit for love, he generously provided travel funds for the young lovers (charging it to Columbus’ account).

“Using young girls for magical rituals, is this a pursuit of eternal life or youth?” The baby-faced boy pondered, stroking his chin. “Some lunatics believe that the blood of young girls is the key to reversing aging. Is that manor owner very old? That said, where do they find so many girls to harm? It’s just a private manor, not a lawless zone, so many free citizens disappearing should raise suspicions.”

Columbus said, “Emily said those girls entered the manor under the guise of employment.” But given the scale of Thorn Manor, it wouldn’t need so many young female servants annually. This one-way pattern was highly unusual. Even the serfs tied to the estate could easily spot the anomaly.

The baby-faced boy’s expression became serious. “If that’s the case, then it’s very likely the lord of the manor has ties to human traffickers. For manor serfs like Emily, they can kill many without being convicted, but it’s entirely different with free citizens. They’d rather risk this to lure girls from outside, indicating the girls from the manor are far from meeting their anticipated consumption.” The baby-faced boy thought for a moment. “It’s theoretically possible to buy new female slaves from outside, but the costs of employment contracts and outright slave purchase are worlds apart. Regardless of the reasons, this behavior only shows one thing: they need a lot of girls. But what kind of channel could continuously ‘supply’ this manor?”

“I asked Emily. Charlie has never been to Thorn Manor.” Columbus hadn’t thought so deeply. The little tin soldier dispiritedly said, “Charlie is the smartest person in the world. He would definitely figure out what’s going on.”

“Your boss’ name is Charlie? That’s a pretty common name.”

“How nice is your name?” Columbus retorted unhappily.

The baby-faced boy puffed out his chest. “I’m called Shiloh. In my homeland… it means ‘gem’!”

“Weird name.” The little tin soldier turned away.

“It’s the name my master gave me. What’s weird about it? Columbus is a weird name, if you ask me. Your boss must be odd to give you such a name!” The baby-faced boy was also displeased.

“Don’t you say bad things about Charlie!” Columbus got angry. “He has a great personality! He’s the most popular person in town!”

“Come on, my master is the best person in the world! The best looking! The strongest swordsman! The smartest brain!”

“Charlie is the best! The best looking! Knows a lot of magic! Defeated many big bad guys! Has read a lot of books! There’s nothing he can’t handle!”

The two bickered like roosters for a while, then suddenly both became depressed.

“My master hates traveling and the outdoors. This kind of backwater lacks everything—there are no maids or servants following us. He must be so uncomfortable.” Shiloh’s usually buoyant, curly hair drooped down, mirroring his master’s dispirited expression.

“Charlie didn’t have to travel this far. It’s all because of me that he took the risk… It’s so hard,” Columbus said softly. “Haa, and now he’s lost. I don’t know when we’ll find him.”

“This godforsaken place is too poor,” Shiloh said dissatisfiedly, swatting away a branch blocking the path. “We’ve walked so long and haven’t found a decent town. If it weren’t for the lack of people, I wouldn’t have been hungry enough to pick fruit to eat, which wasn’t even ripe, and got into a ridiculous fight, and now I’m even hungrier. Tin men are better off. They don’t need to eat.”

Columbus immediately countered, “I am a tin soldier! Not a tin man! Although I don’t need to eat, I still need maintenance. If I don’t get oiled soon, I won’t even be able to turn my neck.”

The old goat he was riding bleated in agreement.

Under the curse’s effect, Columbus’s mobility was increasingly stiff, requiring frequent oiling of his joints by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. Since being washed into the river, his condition had worsened, necessitating the help of the old goat for prolonged movement.

“I hope Charlie is okay. My oil better not have been washed away by the river,” Columbus fretted. “I have a feeling I’m not far from my homeland, and if I find Balda, I can’t meet my little sister looking like this.” He had to be repainted and polished, shiny and bright, for the meeting—his memories were often blurred, and he couldn’t even remember Balda’s age anymore.

Charlie always said time changes people beyond recognition, but Columbus knew, whether Balda had grown into a diligent housewife or turned into a white-haired grandmother, he would recognize his sister at first glance. Ah, after so many years, she probably had married and had children by now. He wondered if her children would be happy to see him…

Shiloh sighed maturely. “It doesn’t matter to me. I just hope my master is doing well. Alas, with his noble status, he’s not meant to be sleeping outdoors. Maybe he doesn’t even have a place to stay or food, traveling in hunger and cold…” The more he spoke, the more horrified he felt, making his teeth begin to chatter.

Dwight looked out the window, where the last bit of the sunset’s afterglow barely clung to the sky. This city on the southwest side of the Mokwen Kingdom was indeed bustling, but it still couldn’t compare to the capital. Even the prevalence of streetlamps was far less than in Syriacochi, and the lights were turned on later. Right now, the outside was dimly lit, making the indoors seem all the warmer and brighter.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper carefully examined two differently colored handmade soaps, then, catching the Duke’s thoughtful gaze, he coughed. “Are you satisfied with this incense?”

Dwight withdrew his gaze, glanced around at the changes of incense, the smooth bathtub, the just-right water temperature, a cup of the finest apple wine the inn could offer, and—

“It’s fine.” He suppressed the sudden strange feeling that had welled up inside him, leaned back comfortably, and said nonchalantly, “You can start.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 44

Eugene was chewing on a stalk of grass, lying back with his legs crossed under an apple tree, lost in thought.

He and Shivers had agreed to meet here at noon, but it was already two hours past noon, and the other hadn’t shown up. The sunlight filtering through the sparse leaves was warm enough to make one sleepy, but Eugene felt no such drowsiness.

Neither of them had ventured close to that strange mansion on the hill, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t gather intelligence. Eugene, with his unscrupulous ways, had disguised himself as a starving vagrant and managed to scrounge half a jug of milk on the outskirts of the estate at the foot of the mountain. However, the peasants were much more cautious than he had anticipated. They were tight-lipped to this foreigner, even showing a peculiar wariness and scrutiny.

This was interesting. Normally, even in private estates, the lower-class farmers wouldn’t exhibit such a uniformly strange xenophobic demeanor. After all, the master’s secrets shouldn’t leak to their level unless their lives and property were threatened—the hostility Eugene sensed was inexplicable and unreasonable.

Though those people revealed nothing, their attitude was enough to infer many problems.

Eugene sat up and drew several lines on the ground with a stick. This was a method he had secretly learned from the Duke, listing existing clues to find potential logical connections and thus deduce the most likely truths—Eugene sometimes found the Duke’s ability a bit eerie (he believed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt the same), but he didn’t show it given the man was their boss that controlled his food, clothing, housing, and transportation.

Eugene couldn’t write, but he could draw.

Throughout their travels, they had encountered private estates. Based on experience, the benefit of such a semi-closed loop system was peace and security, and the downside was its isolation. More remote estates might not see a new face for years, so outsiders bringing fresh news and items were generally welcomed—except those armed with cavalry and bandits. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had even once dazzled a manor’s women and children with simple magic tricks, and when leaving, a child had even tried to sneak onto their carriage to go “learn magic” with them.

Compared to that, this estate’s guarded demeanor was intriguing. Eugene marked the first circle on his lines.

“One possibility is that this estate was recently attacked, or something unfortunate involving outsiders happened,” Eugene muttered to himself, then drew a second circle. “The walls are intact, and women and children can be seen around, which rules out an attack. Outsiders… Fraud? Theft? A minor incident wouldn’t make the whole estate cautious. The second possibility is that it’s an order from above. Why would the master order increased security? Something must have happened recently at the manor. Could it be related to that glowing thing?”

Eugene and Shivers had watched those “things”. They had entered the manor and left within an hour, and before dawn, another group also left the estate. Although they didn’t see it firsthand, the Knight Commander made an accurate judgment based on the direction and hoofprints on the road.

They had decided to split up to gather information: Eugene would approach the lower estate looking for any trace of the Duke—such a conspicuous appearance once seen would surely cause a stir in these rural parts.

Shivers, with his exceptional skills, planned to secretly infiltrate the surroundings of the manor and try to overhear some intelligence. They had agreed to meet under this apple tree at noon, regardless of their findings, to plan further.

Besides, Shivers had also specifically instructed him on some things. Normally, the armed forces of a private estate would be concentrated around the main house, and the lower estate wouldn’t have much fighting quality. As long as they avoid direct conflict, Eugene’s skills should at least allow him to avoid life threatening situations.

But scouting the manor was different. The strength of the opposition was unknown, and Shivers going in alone couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be accidents. So he told Eugene, if he didn’t appear by the agreed time, don’t go back to the estate and try to find the nearest town—the lowest standard being an inn with a hot bath, which was most likely a place where the unrestricted Duke might be found.

Actually, without Shivers explaining, Eugene would have done the same. Firstly, if even Shivers couldn’t handle it, it was just a waste of life for Eugene to try, and secondly… after all, they were just in an employment relationship. Eugene didn’t need to risk his own life for him.

Eugene spat out the grass stalk and hesitantly drew a cross on the ground. “Trouble at the manor, heightened alert, misfortune if approached. The nearest village is twenty-five miles southeast, the town even farther…” He stared at the diagram he had drawn for a while before finally looking up in the direction of the sun. If he didn’t set off now, it would be hard to reach the next populated place before dark.

“I’m just a little guy with no real skills. Even if I went, I wouldn’t be much help.” Eugene comforted himself, then, pushing off his knees, stood up, thought for a moment, and picked up a stick about as long as his arm. He took a deep breath and strode forward. He had only taken a few steps when a ghostly voice behind him made his hair stand on end.

“That way leads to the estate.”

Eugene froze for a moment, then spun around. The tall Knight Commander stood behind him, smiling with his arms crossed.

“Shivers!” Eugene exclaimed excitedly. “You’re not dead!”

Knight Commander: “……”

“Did you think I was dead?” Shivers raised an eyebrow.

Eugene truly sighed with relief. “Yes!”

Shivers said irritably, “Disappointed?”

Though startled, Eugene was still very happy. “The time came, and you didn’t show, so I—”

Shivers suddenly grabbed his neck. “Thinking of scouting the manor? You’re more thoughtful than I thought.”

Eugene: “So I thought to avenge you!”

Shivers: “…Tone down the boasting a bit. My earlier sentiment is nearly gone. But I’m still glad, you know you’re not very useful. If I had failed, you going there would be a death sentence. But you decided to look for me anyway.”

That praise sounded a bit strange.

Eugene looked slightly disgruntled and a bit embarrassed, his expression very complex. “Why were you late?”

“Got delayed a bit,” Shivers said solemnly. “But not without gain. That estate…”

The Knight Commander paused, seemingly considering his words.

“The Duke isn’t there,” he finally said. “We’re leaving now.”

Eugene’s curiosity was immediately piqued, clamoring to exchange detailed information—Shivers, fearing his loud voice might attract unwanted attention, had to cover his mouth, telling him they must talk while walking.

Before infiltrating the manor, Shivers thought it was just a closed, conservative, and xenophobic private estate. However, with the innate aristocratic smoothness (hypocrisy) of Duke Dwight and the resourcefulness of Shopkeeper Charlie, entering the estate should have been straightforward. But once he had smoothly entered and realized the Duke hadn’t been there, he inadvertently discovered the dark secrets of the estate that must not see the light of day.

“Dr. Salman.”

Only a three-branched candelabra on the left wall provided light in the tall entrance hall, which seemed insufficient before dawn had arrived. The tall, thin man in a stiff coat took off his hat and turned around.

“Mr. Foley.” The doctor bowed slightly to the man who had spoken. A boy of about thirteen or fourteen, holding a medicine box, stepped back to not obstruct the view between the two men.

“Dr. Salman, I…” Mr. Foley hesitated; his urgency mixed with hesitation. “Her condition isn’t good. You’d better take another look.”

Dr. Salman’s half-profile was hidden in the shadows. He was about to say something when footsteps echoed from the corridor behind the hall. It was the sound of a refined lady’s shoes tapping on the floor. The man known as Mr. Foley’s face changed, he looked back, then turned around again without saying anything further.

“If you need, I will come again tomorrow,” Dr. Salman said in a steady voice. “Please forgive me. I left in too much of a hurry last night, leaving many things unexplained. Even the apprentice came along, and at nine this morning I have an appointment with Sir Hippel…”

The footsteps stopped.

“Ah, then…” Mr. Foley stuttered. “Okay, then I will send someone to fetch you at the appropriate time.”

Dr. Salman nodded, and at this moment, a servant stepped forward.

“Let Archie take you there,” Mr. Foley said. “Because we’ve had—you know, a—a thief, so—”

“Proper caution is very necessary,” Dr. Salman said softly.

“Yes.” Mr. Foley sighed in relief.

It was more of a precaution than an escort. The dark-skinned servant almost shadowed the doctor out of the manor, straight to the stables, without a word exchanged on the way. Dr. Salman didn’t look around, but just as he was about to step into the carriage, he suddenly tapped his hat and stated that he had forgotten his cane in the entrance hall, asking the servant to retrieve it for him.

The servant glanced at the stable hands, bowed to the doctor, and hurried back to the manor. By the time he returned with the cane, Dr. Salman and his apprentice were already securely seated in the carriage.

Dr. Salman’s comment to Mr. Foley about “proper caution” was actually an understatement. As they left the mansion’s gate and even as they departed the estate, they were checked three or four times.

“…They nearly wanted to open and check the medical box,” the apprentice grumbled. Now that the carriage had left the estate, he finally began to complain.

“What happened last night must not be mentioned to anyone,” Dr. Salman said quietly. “Pretend as if nothing happened.”

“Why? It was just a miscarriage operation—” The apprentice was puzzled. “The child was already beyond saving. Why do we need to come back tomorrow? Doctor, didn’t you already prescribe the medication?”

Dr. Salman lowered his eyes. “We will not come tomorrow, nor will we ever return.”

The apprentice’s eyes widened.

“Moreover, what was lost last night wasn’t just any ‘child’.” The normally polite Dr. Salman’s tone suddenly carried a hint of sarcasm.

The apprentice shuddered at these words: “Doctor?”

“If you wish to continue learning, I will give you a letter. Take it to Labelle City, where my friend resides. If you do not wish to travel far, you may return to your hometown,” Dr. Salman said calmly.

“Wait, doctor, why? I’ve felt something was odd from the beginning! Why did you say we would come again tomorrow, and we clearly had no appointment today—”

“If I hadn’t said that, we would not have been able to leave the estate alive today,” the doctor interrupted. “But that was just a temporary measure, so you must leave immediately, and you are not to return to Bonan Town for ten years—better not even step into Ropappas City.”

The apprentice was stunned.

“But why, doctor?” he asked weakly. Dr. Salman wasn’t an unreasonable man. On the contrary, his cautious and calm character always made him think deeply about each step. The apprentice knew there must be a serious reason. “Can I go with you?”

“Just stay away from here. They won’t pursue you relentlessly. You were waiting outside all last night, so you didn’t see anything,” Dr. Salman whispered almost inaudibly. “But I personally disposed of ‘that thing’. If my judgment isn’t wrong, Mr. Foley and his wife wanted to bury me and ‘it’ together at that moment.”

The apprentice was even more shocked. “Wasn’t that Mr. Foley’s child?”

Dr. Salman shook his head. “That was not a child. It was…” He adjusted his wording. “Fortunately, it didn’t survive. Do not ask any more, for your own sake and for your family’s.”

He sternly cut off the apprentice’s burgeoning questions, and after that, no more words were spoken. The carriage was silent as it finally traveled the bumpy forest road and turned onto the main road leading to the town.

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 43

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie suddenly stopped and looked out the window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Duke: “……”

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “……”

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

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

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 42

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

But today, her routine faced a minor disruption.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dwight glanced coldly at the dazed couple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave found himself even more troubled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This only piqued his curiosity more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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