Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 29

Although the Mokwen royal palace was practically a semi-open venue for nobles to celebrate the King’s birthday, the Senate’s focus was initially on identifying the victim’s identity and the channels through which one could enter the palace.

But the paradox lay in the fact that unlike the banquet hall, the King’s bedroom, unless Tifa was inside, was usually left unattended, and roughly every hour, a maid would enter to tidy the bed, change the incense, and adjust the decorations. The King himself stated that there was no one in the room the last time he left it.

The deceased woman, though nobody could recall her name, could be identified by her freckles under her makeup and high cheekbones as not a native of Mokwen. Testimonies from ladies-in-waiting and guards also confirmed that no one had seen her before.

She seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in the King’s room, then handed a sharp dagger, which ended up in her own chest, to the furious Queen (who firmly denied this).

Priscilla wasn’t very concerned about Christine’s predicament. She was preoccupied with another thought.

If it weren’t for Dwight, would she have been the one confined to a room right now? This thought made her restless, and she knew she had to find a way to verify it.

So, risking suspicion, she didn’t return to her husband after leaving Christine’s room but instead took a detour.

“My Lady?!” A lady-in-waiting hurried out, almost bumping into Priscilla. “My Lady, please leave quickly. Intruders have been spotted in the palace, and the guards are on their way!”

Priscilla instinctively thought she meant Dwight. Her face turned pale as she grabbed the lady-in-waiting’s wrist. “What—what intruder?”

“They found an unidentified man. Please leave quickly… Ah!” The lady-in-waiting suddenly stumbled as a man ran out from behind her, his elbow nearly knocking her to the ground. Priscilla looked up just in time to see the man helping the lady-in-waiting to her feet, a bit of dark hair peeking out from under his cloak—it wasn’t her brother. Priscilla had barely caught her breath when she met the man’s eyes, which were narrow and curved subtly, like those of a half-closed-eye cat.

Priscilla gasped. “…Ceylon?!”

The man didn’t respond to the name she blurted out, but he stopped running when he saw her expression. His movement was so abrupt that the hood he was half-wearing finally slipped down, revealing copper-colored hair that shone exceptionally bright under the palace’s ornate wall lamps.

The guards chasing him caught up at that moment, with the leading soldier raising his sword. “Let go of those ladies! You—”

The soldier suddenly saw the man’s face and hesitated.

“…Oscar?!”

The man, known by his mother’s surname Green and formally the captain of the Brandenburg Knights of Lemena, was now dressed as a member of the Ninth Squadron of the Mokwen’s palace guards under the alias Tommy. He hadn’t expected to encounter a friend with whom he had shared drinks and fought a few thieves in a tavern on another continent. As he stood dumbfounded, other members of the guard squad also arrived.

“There! I saw them!”

“Stop!”

“Where are the archers?”

“Don’t use arrows! The Countess is with them—”

Before he could make sense of the situation, Shivers, bewilderingly, became the leader of the escape, followed by ‘hostage’ Countess Priscilla, with Oscar, wearing a woman’s cloak, bringing up the rear.

Strictly speaking, only Oscar was seen as suspicious by the pursuing guards.

Fortunately, though brief, Shivers’ time with the Ninth Squadron wasn’t wasted, and with Priscilla’s deliberate cooperation, by the time they met up with the hidden Dwight, they had temporarily eluded their pursuers.

“So,” the Duke slowly sized up Oscar, “now the entire palace’s attention is on you.”

Being a suspicious character illegally present in the palace during sensitive times and having ‘kidnapped’ the Countess was tantamount to confessing to the Senate “the murderer is me”.

“It’s ‘our’ attention that the entire palace is on now,” Oscar replied nonchalantly, seemingly unaffected by his sarcastic tone. “The main gates are definitely closed by now, and soon no one will be allowed out. If they carry out a thorough search within the palace, we’ll be found in no more than three days.”

Dwight frowned slightly.

Priscilla’s reaction was much more significant. She suddenly pulled off Oscar’s cloak, staring intently at him.

Even if the person was a beautifully groomed noblewoman, being stared at like this for an extended period would make any well-mannered young man uncomfortable. Oscar, unable to maintain eye contact, had to look away. “Uh… My Lady?”

Priscilla, oblivious, seemed almost to be searching for clues from his pores, and it took a long while before she withdrew her gaze.

“You probably mistook me for someone else,” Oscar said softly, subtly straightening the cloak that had been pulled askew.

Everyone could see the Countess’ disappointment, but now wasn’t the time to delve into it.

“In two more hours, it will be fully light,” Shiver said practically. “We’d better think of something quickly, especially since…” especially since Priscilla is here.

Regardless of the truth, as far as the palace was concerned, their identity as kidnappers was a fait accompli, unless Dwight revealed his true identity—but sneaking into a foreign royal palace as a Duke from another continent wasn’t much better than kidnapping a Countess.

Priscilla took a deep breath and glanced at Shivers and Oscar.

Shivers had practically grown up with these siblings, and though Priscilla had been married away for years, the understanding they had developed from childhood had never faded. He immediately understood the noble lady’s intention and pulled Oscar back a few steps to give them some space.

Though the space was very limited.

Dwight approached his sister. He was only thirteen when Priscilla was married. His features, inherited from their mother, made them look almost like siblings when standing together. Now meeting again after years, the still-growing Duke appeared somewhat frail—but conversely, his height had shot up like bamboo after rain, making it impossible for Priscilla to reach his head as she used to.

Dwight leaned down, allowing Priscilla to gently kiss his forehead.

Priscilla wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck, whispering almost inaudibly in his ear, “I’ll be fine. You need to find a way to escape as soon as possible. You must promise me, never leave Pennigra lightly again.”

Dwight hummed lowly. He actually had no way to safely leave the palace under lockdown and search, but he didn’t show his anxiety, at least not in front of Priscilla.

Priscilla didn’t look up but seemed to guess his thoughts.

“You will leave safely. That’s what matters most to me,” she whispered a few more words into her brother’s ear, after which the young Duke’s expression finally changed.

But the loss of control was only momentary. From Shivers and Oscar’s perspective, they could only see Dwight straightening up, holding Priscilla tightly—so tightly that within three breaths, the slender Countess had collapsed into his arms.

Dwight looked up; his expression now composed.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Shiver’s assessment of the situation was quite accurate. Mokwen was an ancient kingdom spanning over four generations. The royal palace, having undergone several renovations and expansions, resembled a large, old house with frequently used and well-maintained living quarters and kitchens, but also attics frequented only by rats and bugs. This time, the murder and the Countess’ abduction had occurred abruptly, and even with the urgent recruitment of personnel from outside the palace, organizing and deploying command took time—this interval was brief, so Dwight and Priscilla made a decisive move, taking advantage of the night to move quickly through the dark garden. Choosing an opportune moment, they allowed a squad to spot their trail before laying down the unconscious Priscilla.

The soldiers couldn’t directly touch the Countess, so they had to temporarily abandon the chase and call for a lady-in-waiting. All three were quite agile, and ultimately, without much danger, they managed to pry open a locked, decorative stained-glass window that was broken and re-entered Tifa’s bedchamber.

Though it’s said that the most dangerous places can be the safest, this time they undoubtedly walked into a dead end.

“No way,” Shivers leaned against the door, listening carefully. “There are too many guards outside.”

Dwight’s brow furrowed.

Barely sneaking into the bedchamber was their limit, and they were still some distance from Tifa’s own bedroom—by custom, this room wasn’t safe either, as guards could enter at any time for inspection.

Now, they were trapped, unable to move.

“You go out,” He nodded towards Oscar, who had been silent. “Lead the soldiers away.”

Shivers: “……”

His master always seemed to fall ill at the most opportune times.

Oscar turned his head. “Excuse me? Do I look like a fool? Why should I go out and die for you?”

The Duke scoffed. “Then why have you been following us all this way?”

Because the Countess only told you about the secret exit, and she spoke so softly, no matter how much you strain your ears, you can’t hear it—obviously, this brutal truth couldn’t be spoken now.

Oscar gave a nervous laugh. “We could think of something else.”

Dwight remained silent, and just when Oscar thought he was weighing the pros and cons, the Duke suddenly stepped forward and grabbed him by the throat forcefully.

Shivers’ eyelid twitched, but he made no move.

Actually, as Dwight advanced, Oscar had already reacted, even reaching out to block, but he hadn’t expected the lean young man to possess a brute strength completely at odds with his refined appearance. It was merely a grabbing motion, yet like a tiger released from its cage, it was an irresistible force that pinned down the antelope before him.

The Duke of Brandenburg often used arrogance and grandeur to mask his inherent brutality. Now, it seemed he was finally abandoning the noble principle that “a gentleman’s fiercest protest is silence”. He nearly folded Oscar in half, pressing him against an enamel and silver-inlaid circular table, the edges embedded with mother-of-pearl harshly hitting Oscar’s lower back.

“Rather than that, I want to know who you are.” Dwight’s voice was even, only the veins on the back of his hand revealing the force he exerted.

He didn’t believe Oscar’s appearance was accidental—maybe it was the first time they met, but such coincidences didn’t occur easily across continents. Shivers must have noticed something odd about Oscar, but given his good upbringing and Oscar’s past help, as long as this man didn’t show a hostile stance, Shivers wouldn’t treat him as an enemy.

But the Duke of Brandenburg didn’t think he needed such manners.

Oscar took a deep breath, then unexpectedly laughed.

“I’m a junior mage.” His voice was strained under the Duke’s grip, making it almost hard to hear. “I have a way out.”

Being a mage was an interesting profession. The effectiveness of magic depended entirely on talent. If the career ceiling for a junior mage was that of a firework technician at a traveling circus, an intermediate mage could already hold their own in a regular army.

The gap was that big.

A junior mage…

No anger showed on the Duke’s face. Given his status and position, even a senior mage wouldn’t necessarily have the privilege of speaking to him, let alone a junior mage comparable to a clown in status.

But in the current situation, even being able to cast a few minor illusions could indeed slightly solve their urgent problem.

The hand clutching his neck finally loosened, and Oscar’s face, which had turned red, quickly paled, instinctively gasping for air. His normally fair complexion turned an unhealthy shade of blue.

“I must leave here as soon as possible.” Even nearly being strangled didn’t provoke anger in Oscar. Instead, he negotiated rationally: “Take me with you, and I can divert the soldiers’ attention.”

As suspected, Tifa’s bedchamber was one of the main places under scrutiny. Guards patrolled back and forth along every corridor by squad, while others specifically checked every room, ensuring no potential hiding spot was overlooked.

With such thorough inspection, everyone believed the intruders would soon be caught—even if they could fly. The mages previously invited into the palace were already prepared to monitor the sky.

But no one expected the fire to start so silently.

Almost simultaneously, the commander received multiple reports of fires—dressing rooms, corridor carpets, floor-to-ceiling drapes… The flames seemed to erupt under everyone’s watch. By the time people scrambled to extinguish them, they realized how easily these numerous, small fires had completely divided their manpower.

The search net was unexpectedly burned through.

“What is that?” Only after they had finally dragged a few isolated guards into the room, changed into their uniforms, and sneaked into Tifa’s room with the rushing crowd, Shivers couldn’t help but ask.

“My masterpiece, a portable little fire chicken,” Oscar said proudly. “Fireproof eggshell. It won’t burn a hole in your pocket—just break the eggshell when needed, and the flame chick will run to wherever you want it to go. It can burn effectively for up to three minutes.”

The Knight Commander and the Duke of Brandenburg both looked at him.

Oscar still seemed pleased with himself. “It’s the perfect little helper for outdoor trips or home cooking.”

Shivers politely chimed in, “Sounds interesting.”

Oscar seemed suddenly energized. “Would you like to buy one? I have a few more.”

The Knight Commander coughed.

Because Dwight was looking at them both with a look of infinite disgust, as if he were looking at two humanoid slugs.

“Find the secret chamber,” he commanded succinctly.

“You don’t know where the secret chamber is?” Oscar retorted.

Dwight didn’t even deign to give him a glance.

Priscilla had told him that in the entire Mokwen royal palace, there was only one secret passage that could be used without surveillance, hidden in the King’s room.

But this was also the kingdom’s top secret, and the entrance was sure to be very well concealed, not even noticeable by the King’s closest confidants.

Oscar, who hadn’t panicked even when choked, finally showed a hint of anxiety. He pulled out a pocket watch, checked the time, and turned to them to announce, “We have five minutes.”

He said, “If we don’t find it within five minutes, it’s over.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed.

Shiver frowned. “Why? Will the passage close on a schedule?”

Oscar gave a dry laugh. “I’m not sure, but roughly.”

He knew the Duke was staring at him from behind and that every additional word he spoke only increased the suspicion Dwight held against him.

But he had no choice.

The fire chicken’s capability was limited. It couldn’t create a real conflagration. They were merely relying on quantity for a temporary advantage, and according to his calculations, the secret in Tifa’s room was indeed time-bound.

The King’s room was, of course, the epitome of luxury, and it was a bit of a stretch for three people to try to open all the drawers there within five minutes. Fine beads of sweat broke out on Oscar’s nose.

Four minutes.

“Nothing.” Shivers put down the last candlestick and began to feel the carpet with his hands.

Three minutes.

Oscar, frantic like an ant on a hot pan, started lifting every painting on the walls without any system.

Two minutes.

Dwight’s slender fingers brushed over the wallpaper by the bed, suddenly stopping.

“Stop,” the Duke said.

Shivers, who was lying against the wall, and Oscar, who was reaching for a wall painting, both turned to look at him.

“Shh.” The Duke of Brandenburg turned his face to the wall.

In the eerie silence, several intermittent, low syllables came from the other side of the wall.

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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 28

Conspiracy.

Other than this word, Dwight could think of no other way to describe the current chaotic situation. Who was behind the conspiracy? Priscilla, Tifa, Lestrop, or… himself, the Duke of Brandenburg, who shouldn’t have been here?

Priscilla said, “It’s different here than in Lemena.”

Though the pink roses were slowly withering, the sister standing before him still had a soft and beautiful face, and her skin and hair were as glossy as he remembered. Except occasionally revealing a faint melancholy and unease, her eyes looked at him with the usual concern and tenderness.

Was it really because she left Lemena that the roses were dying?

No matter what Priscilla’s life was like now, at least he had achieved his purpose for this visit, confirming her well-being with his own eyes. And he believed his sister wasn’t a mindless woman. She knew how to preserve herself amidst the complex interplay of power struggles.

Priscilla said, “You must leave immediately.”

Dwight suddenly reached up and rubbed his furrowed brow forcefully.

“You’re right,” he murmured to himself softly. “I should leave now.”

Priscilla sat in the room, trying hard not to let her maids notice her agitation. Since a murder had occurred, Lestrop had been busy, but he had invited a Viscountess to keep her company. Although Priscilla felt that the lady was like a cold water snake tightly coiling around her, making it hard for her to breathe, she couldn’t refuse her husband’s kindness.

Kindness…

She lowered her eyes, staring at a delicate ivory comb on the dressing table, lost in thought.

Her main concern now wasn’t this, but whether her brother had safely left the palace. With the suspected incident of the Queen killing the King’s mistress in his bedroom right before the King’s birthday, this was enough to make the nobles of neighboring countries secretly laugh for a whole year. Even just for the sake of appearance, Tifa would thoroughly investigate the murderer. If the city was under martial law, how would Dwight manage to leave the city? Although from another continent, the Duke of Brandenburg’s reputation was more widespread than everyone thought…

Priscilla unconsciously tightened her grip on the hem of her skirt, then quickly let go.

She and the Viscountess weren’t familiar, and she was too dispirited to feign interest, so she simply pretended to be unwell and wanted to go to bed early, hoping to send her away.

The Viscountess wanted to linger but was interrupted by a lady-in-waiting who rushed into the room. The lady-in-waiting dismissed all the maids before throwing herself at Priscilla’s knees. “My Lady, His Majesty and the Earl have started arguing, and it’s quite severe!”

Priscilla’s expression became serious, and she glanced at the Viscountess.

Even if clueless, matters concerning the King meant the Viscountess understood she could no longer stay, and she had to leave with a bow.

In theory, the King’s political dealings with the nobility and the Senate had nothing to do with the womenfolk, but between Tifa, Lestrop, and Priscilla, things were a bit delicate. Although they did not meet often, Tifa had always been particularly courteous to his sister-in-law, Lestrop’s wife Priscilla—this was politely put, but in reality, Tifa’s demeanor towards Priscilla had always seemed particularly indulgent, sometimes even showing a bit of excessive concern, which everyone had noticed since Priscilla first appeared as the Countess at court. But this wasn’t an inexplicable issue, as many older nobles said that in Priscilla’s gestures, there was much of Tifa’s older sister—former Princess Riley of the Mokwen Kingdom, who had died unexpectedly before she could marry and had been particularly close to Tifa.

This kind of behavior wasn’t even considered a royal secret, and Priscilla was quite restrained, never acting inappropriately despite the King’s favor; thus, the King’s unusual tenderness towards her was always maintained within reasonable limits. But now that this lady-in-waiting had come to summon her due to an argument between the King and her husband, whoever gave the order, the underlying implications were somewhat intriguing.

“That is your Queen.” Lestrop stood in the center of the room, staring at the seated King. “Insulting her will not bring you any benefits, Your Majesty.”

In the room, apart from the two brothers, there were no outsiders, and Tifa’s normally dignified expression had turned completely indifferent.

“You know that she is ‘my’ Queen,” the King said expressionlessly. “I decide where she stays, what she eats, what she wears, and who she sees. Why do you care so much?”

“I care about your reputation,” Lestrop said gravely. “Before the matter is clarified, you are treating your own wife as a murderer. If this is exploited by those with ulterior motives—”

A knock on the door interrupted the Earl. Turning around, he saw his wife walking in.

“Priscilla?” Lestrop frowned. “What are you doing here?”

The young Countess didn’t speak immediately.

“I called her here,” Tifa rotated the ring on his hand, “to remind you who the woman you should really care about is.”

The tall Earl’s face finally darkened.

“Brother, do you have some misunderstanding about me?” he said coldly.

Tifa chuckled lightly.

“What misunderstanding could I have about you?”

The two brothers stared at each other, like two regal lions in lazy poses, yet fully focused on their opponent, neither willing to look away first.

It was Priscilla who broke the escalating standoff.

“Your Majesty, the situation tonight is chaotic, and everyone is tired. Although I lack experience, I know that tired people can make irrational decisions,” she said softly. “The Queen has also been frightened. May I go see her? Even if I can’t offer much comfort, at least I want to tell her that Your Majesty and the lords are trying to prove her innocence and ask that she not worry.”

Lestrop raised an eyebrow, seemingly quite surprised she would say such a thing.

Tifa laughed again, although the smile stayed only on his lips, not reaching his eyes.

“Then, go and see Christine,” Tiffa said.

Priscilla glanced at her husband, then curtseyed and left the room.

Lestrop grimaced, but ultimately, he said nothing, leaving the room with Priscilla.

“Then I will go check on Her Majesty the Queen now,” Priscilla said, standing in the corridor. Despite the sudden events, her makeup and dress remained neat, her pink cheeks seemingly glowing under the corridor lights.

Lestrop was silent for a while before he said, “Don’t stay too long. The palace isn’t as safe as it seems.”

Priscilla nodded. Her light golden hair was styled into a beautiful braided bun; she was still young, and despite being married, she looked almost the same as the girl who had left her hometown alone years ago to marry into this far-off land.

Lestrop touched her cheek and watched as she disappeared from his sight.

Christine actually hadn’t received harsh treatment. In fact, as long as the Duchy of Lebis existed, Tifa couldn’t deal with Christine without going through the Duchy. She was well aware of this, so even though everyone accused her of being a witch who had murdered someone in her husband’s bedroom, Christine hadn’t lost her composure and dignity as the Queen.

She didn’t even show surprise at Priscilla’s arrival, nor did she attempt to plead her innocence to Priscilla.

“I have already explained everything to the King and the Senate. All that remains is to wait,” Christine said. “Thank you for coming to see me, Priscilla.”

Priscilla nodded. Both were nobly born and had received the finest education; even though they both knew that they held no affection for each other, they didn’t skimp on formalities.

“The Earl believes His Majesty’s decision was too hasty, and indeed, this small room does seem too confining for you,” Priscilla said softly. “I hope the true culprit is found soon.”

Christine looked at her, suddenly displaying an enigmatic smile.

“You’re really adorable, Priscilla,” she whispered, her words laden with ambiguous meaning. “No wonder he likes you so much.”

Priscilla’s expression remained unchanged, and she said gently, “His Majesty loves you very much. You are the only Queen of Mokwen, and although the situation is complicated, please don’t worry about this. Whoever orchestrated this conspiracy is bound to fail.”

The Queen looked at her silently. Christine was three years older than Priscilla but had no children, and Tifa having many mistresses was almost an open secret. As time passed, the Senate and the King’s dissatisfaction with her grew, and she didn’t think this matter would settle down quickly.

That person had forbidden everyone from contacting her at such a time yet had allowed Priscilla in… Was this a reminder or a warning?

Christine suddenly felt a deep weariness sweep over her, and the young Countess’ naive and delicate face even made her feel nauseated, igniting a desire to throw the cup in her hand without regard for decorum, to scream loudly, and order no one to enter the room, no one to speak to her—

“Your Majesty?” Priscilla asked, tilting her head in confusion, the light flickering in her eyes with her movement.

Christine snapped out of it.

“I’ll be alright,” Christine said. Although the Countess’ visit was of no help to her, she still patiently persuaded her to leave. However, as Priscilla was about to exit the room, she hesitated for a moment.

“Priscilla?” she called.

Priscilla turned back.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” The Queen stood there, looking somewhat haggard but with a straight back.

“Just a small favor. It won’t trouble anyone.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

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.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

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.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

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.

---

<<< || 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.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

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.

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