Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger nodded and smiled at her.

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

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

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

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

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

Tina flicked an eyelid but said nothing.

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

A few men who knew them chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he did something unexpected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tina scoffed.

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

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

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

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

But she didn’t stand up to leave.

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

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

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

What a foolish man.

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

So these fools deserved to be duped.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 21

Despite his inherently haughty nature, Dwight was no fool. After securing adequate supplies in Mobley, he gave Columbus a delicate purse with a long strap, easy for the tin soldier to hang around his neck. Filled with clinking copper coins, Columbus was appointed as the treasurer, tasked with buying up every newspaper they came across on their journey, which Eugene was to iron before handing them over to the Duke for his perusal.

Eugene was highly dissatisfied with Columbus being given control of the finances and strongly demanded to hold the purse himself. As this was Columbus’s first official job, he naturally didn’t want to be stripped of his authority, leading to a noisy argument between the two on the carriage, causing Shivers to drive the horses at a faster pace to avoid their quarrel.

Charlie felt nearly bone-shaken by the carriage ride and couldn’t fathom how the young Duke could sit so upright after such a long and arduous journey, suspecting he might have a spine of steel.

“That thing around Columbus’s neck…” Charlie scratched his chin, noticing he was shedding a bit with the arrival of spring. “It’s a ladies’ handbag, isn’t it?”

Though it looked quite expensive, men’s handbags never had such long straps. He couldn’t believe he had managed to fool two unsophisticated fools into arguing over it for half the day.

Dwight, holding a soft leather notebook and writing with a dip pen, seemed not to have heard Charlie. His inkwell on the side table was uncovered, and it jolted with the carriage, almost sliding off the table sideways. Charlie quickly reached out and grabbed it.

“What are you writing?” He craned his neck to see.

Dwight snapped the notebook shut with a sharp “snap”, giving him a look.

It was a serious breach of etiquette among nobles to pry into someone’s private affairs, especially for a man, considered one of the top three faux pas in his education.

But the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s education evidently differed.

“What are you writing?” he asked again. “You looked so focused.”

…He could probably never expect this rabbit-headed shopkeeper to exhibit proper decorum, although, ironically, Charlie seemed quite the gentleman around women. Dwight thought sarcastically, watching him coldly.

“Excluding mid-journey resupply, it will take about five days to enter the territory of Mokwen. If we pass directly through the capital, it’s another two days to Lestrop’s lands. Avoiding the capital would add an extra two days but might save some unnecessary trouble.”

Charlie methodically screwed the inkwell cap back on and placed it on the compartment. Dwight noticed he was sitting too close—so close he could see the fluff on those long ears.

“We could enter the capital,” the Duke said after a moment. “Other than the Bataan war report, we haven’t encountered any organized strife along the way, indicating that right after the harsh winter, most of Doran is relatively stable, and the capital’s defenses won’t be overly tight. Besides—”

This was also why he had insisted on not having the Brandenburg Knights accompany him. If he had traveled with an entourage, even disguised as an unarmed trade group, few lords in war-prone Doran would open their gates. Lestrop was the younger brother of the king of Mokwen and would certainly have close ties with the capital. Visiting there first would be a good strategy for gathering information before marching into his domain.

“I, Shivers, a rabbit, a thief, and a talking toy,” the Duke said with his typical sarcastic tone. “We are a small group, unlikely to attract much attention or alarm.”

—

Mokwen’s capital, Syriacochi

Three in the evening.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“Ah, the city gate thing?”

“What? An elf has come?”

“I heard it’s a foreign princess disguised as a man.”

“No, it’s an elf! The boy named Lem from the second group reportedly fainted after just one look…”

“Fainted? Are elves that beautiful?”

“Elves are beautiful, yes, but aren’t they supposed to live in forests?”

“How beautiful can they be? I heard the clerk also fainted?”

“Where are they? Still at the city gate?”

Syriacochi’s city gate was abuzz with gossip, delaying the guards’ duties as the people queued outside the city exchanged anxious inquiries. Before evening fell, a rumor spread like ink on blotting paper. “A princess of the elves, so beautiful she outshines the stars, has come to the kingdom of Mokwen, sitting in her carriage clad in a dress made of various gems, the light of which pales in comparison to her unparalleled beauty.” This startled several lower-ranking officials at the city gates, each reporting up their chain of command.

The ever-strategic Duke was finally thrown off his game. He had to ditch the carriage and put on a cloak, pulling the collar high to blend into the crowded streets with Shivers and the tin soldier.

As the city’s defensive commander, Viscount William was having dinner, enjoying a roasted peacock, when his brother-in-law brought him the news. He was so startled to hear that an unprecedentedly beautiful elf had arrived incognito in Mokwen that he jumped up from his chair, his eyes whirling, as he subconsciously fiddled with the large gemstone rings on his plump fingers.

“Based on what you’re saying, Victor, where is this delicate woman now?”

“My Lord, the trouble is—after she passed the city gate, she disappeared,” Victor bent down and whispered softly. He was thin and tall, and his carefully trimmed mustache looked so symmetrical it was as if it had been measured with a ruler and trimmed.

“Ridiculous! A delicate woman has traveled all this way through dust and hardship, and you let her leave alone? If we had any decency, we should have offered her protection.” Viscount William couldn’t help standing up from his chair in indignation.

An elf—if it really was an elf, would indeed be sensational news, as elves had relocated to Pennigra, living secluded for nearly a hundred years. Even if not in seclusion, this species naturally stayed away from human settlements, being creatures of the forest. Only the innocent and pure-hearted children or maidens might occasionally glimpse these mysterious beings in remote areas. At least, Viscount William had never seen this mysterious race with his own eyes since he was born.

But none of this prevented people from knowing the elves’ exceptionally beautiful average appearance from various poems and paintings. Viscount William anxiously paced back and forth, frustrated at the guards who were such fools to let such a person slip through their fingers. Now that it was early spring, with many people coming and going each day, he had only a small force of city guards at his disposal. With many nobles in the royal city, if others heard of it first…

Victor looked at his overweight brother-in-law, who almost seemed to have “anxious” written all over his face. Suppressing his impatience, Victor stepped forward to advise, “My Lord, the elves’ beauty surpasses even the legends. Her arrival caused quite a stir, and many have already heard the rumors by now.”

“What should we do? What if those guys, Bree and Tim, find out…”

Victor grew impatient inside. So what about the beauty? Even if you were the first to encounter someone of such stunning appearance, could you really hide her away in your Viscount estate without anyone noticing? Elves were never a race to be manipulated by humans. Besides, regardless of her will, this wasn’t Viscount William’s territory, but the royal city of Mokwen. Forget His Majesty, even an Earl would demand you hand her over.

Victor thought his brother-in-law, whose brain seemed lodged in his crotch, really wasn’t suited for this kind of discussion. Unfortunately, Victor’s father was only a Baronet, a non-hereditary title with a declining family estate. If it weren’t for his having a beautiful daughter who fortuitously married the Viscount, the whole family would probably have fallen into oblivion within a decade.

Although his brother-in-law was lecherous and foolish, he was very wealthy and had a certain amount of influence in the army. Victor had obtained a decent military clerical position thanks to Viscount William. As long as he could squeeze into the upper circles, he wouldn’t have to worry about being granted a noble title. Until then, he had to make sure his only backer remained stable.

Victor tactfully said, “Sir, it has been many years since elves appeared among people. If that person really is an elf, such a rare individual would surely be someone His Majesty would want to meet. King Tifa is our wisest and most magnificent king. If the delicate elven lady has any requests, His Majesty would surely be able to assist. With the city abuzz, she might be frightened by the attention. If we can find her first and introduce her to His Majesty, she would surely be grateful to us.” Then the king would also be pleased and reward them.

With Victor’s reminder, William gradually calmed down from his agitated state. Although elves rarely appeared, their historical interactions with humans almost always involved direct conversations with the human high nobility. A mere Viscount trying to win over and subdue an elf was indeed unlikely, and the elf race wasn’t something William could afford to offend. Victor left out an important point: the current King Tifa was also known for his lasciviousness, having had countless mistresses from his princely days to the present, and if a beautiful woman really appeared, which noble in the city could supersede the king to win her?

If William could present the beauty to His Majesty, and if she was as beautiful as rumored, perhaps even the queen might end up wearing someone else’s crown. Since he couldn’t secure the beauty for himself, at least he could strive for title and power.

Resolved, William instructed Victor, “Gather everyone who has seen that woman and round up some men. We need to protect her before any criminals can.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 20

Lecia applied a mixture of honey and olive oil to her hair every night. This was a secret recipe taught by an old nurse from her hometown, which darkened her hair—not to a reddish-brown but to a golden hue.

At important occasions, her beautiful long hair always received many compliments—though noble lineage wasn’t distinguished by hair color, her sleek hair did indeed resemble that of noble ladies who could hardly lift a lace umbrella. However, tonight, the maid was preoccupied with playing marbles and forgot to prepare hot water for her, delaying her bath time significantly, which infuriated Lecia enough to scold her sharply and beat her several times. She was still very angry when she went to bed.

Perhaps due to her annoyance, Lecia had a restless sleep. In a state between sleep and wakefulness, she seemed to hear intermittent music, reminiscent of a rural folk song, nostalgic and familiar.

Lecia rarely dreamed about her childhood—her mother baking bread in the kitchen, she and her sister lying in bed, waiting for the scent of the bread to soothe their hungry bellies.

Lecia gradually fell asleep but soon woke up again. Uncomfortably, she moved and suddenly found she couldn’t stretch out her limbs—a definite anomaly since her bed was certainly spacious enough.

Opening her eyes, Lecia discovered she wasn’t in her bed but lying in a large box, curled up and wrapped in a soft blanket.

Was she dreaming? Lecia cautiously sat up, pushed open the lid of the box, and found it placed in a lavish bedroom, beside the foot of a large bed.

The bed was draped with expensive silk, smooth as water flowing down to the carpet, making one worry that one might accidentally slip off if they turned too much in their sleep. The exquisite canopy was embroidered with figs and laurel using gold thread, and the nightstand held beautiful fruits she had never seen before. The large windows were covered with long curtains, but the various gems embedded in the furniture still glittered brilliantly.

Climbing out of the box, Lecia saw an ivory-colored nightgown laid out on the bed, perfectly her size.

Realizing what had happened, Lecia understood that someone must secretly admire her, thus whisking her away under the cover of night for a clandestine rendezvous. Although she had many admirers, this novel and elaborate method of pursuit was new to her, and seeing the luxurious room, her suitor must be a high-ranking duke or king, which made her heart race.

As expected, after she donned the exquisite nightgown, all the lights in the room were blown out, and the voluptuous blonde lay on the bed, waiting in the darkness for her wealthy lover.

Everything proceeded in secret, and before dawn broke, Lecia crawled back into the large box, feeling extremely tired, though she wished to know which castle she had been brought to. But as the tinkling piano music started, she quickly fell asleep again.

Dwight was experiencing unprecedented sleep difficulties. He slightly lifted his chin. “I wouldn’t lie down on those sheets.”

“Your Lordship, if you continue to reject every inn we can find, I fear tonight we’ll have to sleep on straw in a corner,” Charlie said helplessly.

Shivers had probably grown accustomed to his master’s picky habits and casually led the carriage through the bustling central street of Mobley.

“I have reasonable suspicion there are lice in that inn’s sheets,” Dwight stated emphatically.

“You can’t say that just because the innkeeper doesn’t shave—”

“His beard surely has lice too,” Dwight declared disgustedly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper held his tongue.

To him, the Duke was simply not cut out for long travels. From the bumpy roads to the inn’s linens, he had never seen Dwight satisfied with anything along the way. Even the most distinguished queen couldn’t find as many faults. The problem wasn’t just his fussiness. He forced everyone else to indulge his caprices, exhausting everyone (except Columbus).

Shivers felt guilty about it.

“If the butler were here, it wouldn’t be like this,” the Knight Commander said. “He always has a way.” He faced thieves and assassins without fear, but such daily trivialities were his weak point. After all, in Lemena, there were always attendants to handle everything for him.

Eugene said, “I don’t understand. That last inn charged three silver coins a night—probably even the king himself would stay in such an expensive room. What exactly didn’t satisfy you, Your Lordship?”

In Pennigra, even at his most affluent, Eugene had never possessed more than a silver coin at one time. By the gods, a single silver coin could allow him to drink in a tavern for ten days!

Shivers said, “We must stay in the best places.”

Eugene thought for a moment. “Give me a silver coin, and I’ll make arrangements.”

Not wanting to spend the whole day searching for accommodations in the city, Shivers gave Eugene a silver coin, and off he went with the tin soldier to inquire around.

Though Eugene had never been to the Doran Continent, everyday life was generally similar everywhere. In less than half an hour, they returned and indeed led everyone to an inn with just thirteen rooms. It was a respectable stone mansion, with each room furnished with a bathroom and a fireplace. If not for Eugene leading the way, they would have mistaken it for the residence of some city official.

Reportedly, the inn was the property of a noble who loved traveling, initially reserved for family use. But after the noble’s death, his prodigal heirs gradually gambled away the estate, and this mansion was bought by a merchant who converted it into a grand inn, hosting balls and salons for merchants and impoverished nobles during the social season.

As an exclusive villa or royal palace, it wouldn’t be impressive, but as an inn, it was unusually luxurious—each room came with its own servant. When they decided to stay, the proprietor even gifted them a basket of handmade cookies and soaps.

Seeing the gift basket probably played a part in the Duke of Brandenburg not being overly picky. However, by nine in the evening, after everyone had washed up and sat down to dinner at the long table, he started questioning Eugene on how he found this particular inn.

Although the tin soldier didn’t eat, he sat happily in his chair and said, “We just bought a newspaper. Eugene gave the newsboy a brand-new tinder box, and he directed us here!”

So throughout dinner, the Duke read the newspaper without uttering another word.

Only after the last pudding was served did he put the newspaper down with an unreadable expression.

“What’s in the newspaper?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing much,” Dwight responded dryly. “Some ads and sensational cases, a jeweler’s mistress had a burglary at her home, someone died in some place called Wilken…”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper reached out for the newspaper, and both the tin soldier and Eugene crowded around. They couldn’t read, but their interest in salacious news seemed almost instinctual, and they eagerly asked the shopkeeper to read it aloud.

Dwight scoffed at their vulgar taste, but when Shivers asked the innkeeper to stoke the fire in the lobby and everyone gathered to listen to the newspaper, he didn’t isolate himself. Instead, he chose a corner away from everyone else to write letters.

This wasn’t a newspaper issued by Sapali of the central empire but a locally printed timesheet with coarse production quality. The date wasn’t the latest—probably because the newsboy, in gratitude for the new tinder box, had given Eugene all the copies he had.

Charlie briefly flipped through, reading some sensational headlines aloud, but the actual content wasn’t particularly provocative, just as Dwight had said. For instance, a high-class courtesan was found dead in her room, discovered only in the morning. However, Charlie did find an interesting piece of news: three small kingdoms in the east had started a war of attrition against a relatively wealthier opponent, but the well-fortified city had withstood a siege of a month without a clear outcome.

Shivers showed more interest in the war reports, meticulously reading every related article.

“Gongi, Lamia, Sessilia,” he mused. “I’ve never heard of these kingdoms before, but I recall the kingdom of Bataan being besieged.”

“Bataan has a famous fortress with cliffs on three sides and only a perilous entry,” Charlie noted. “The city has wells and sufficient farmland, likely a target for the neighboring lesser states needing to replenish their coffers this winter.”

Shivers took the newspaper and checked the date. “It seems they started the siege before the snow even melted.”

Columbus sat on the armrest of Shivers’s sofa, pleading for more news stories to be read out. Charlie glanced at the Duke, who was near the fireplace. From his angle, he could only see the long, slender ponytail of the other person’s light golden hair. He knew what he was looking for—there was nothing in the papers about the Mokwen kingdom, but he spent the duration of the dinner reading every detail due to their current lack of intelligence.

Compared to Pennigra, they knew too little about Doran, and a lack of intelligence could have unforeseen consequences if things didn’t go as planned. The title of Duke of Brandenburg was granted by the Modicon Empire of Pennigra, and though powerful on his home continent, in Doran, he was just a wealthy foreigner. The title of Duke only counted if one could set foot back on Pennigra soil.

Though not said aloud, both Shivers and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could sense the Duke’s restlessness. Even a stay in an inn with a four-legged bathtub couldn’t fully relax him. Yet, this stop wasn’t entirely fruitless. They learned that Doran’s chaotic situation inevitably caused disparities in information among parties, fostering a burgeoning network of unofficial intelligence. Aside from established agencies like the Fox’s, street corner rumormongers and vibrant local tabloids thrived, making them a valuable resource once sensational false news and rural gossip were filtered out.

The author has something to say:

The fantastical element of Lecia’s flying box draws from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales “The Tinderbox” and “The Flying Trunk“.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 19

“Lestrop, Lord of the South.” Charlie’s finger trailed lightly over the finely detailed map. “Twenty years ago, he wasn’t the lord here.”

It was just him and the Duke in the carriage. Dwight glanced at him and asked bluntly, “Just how old are you, exactly?”

Talking about twenty years ago and being a schoolmate of the already famous Witch Elena, Dwight felt justified in suspecting that this rabbit-head might actually be fifty years old.

“Elena is barely in her twenties.” Charlie shrugged. “How old do you think I am?”

“Who knows,” Dwight said suspiciously. “A rabbit’s fur doesn’t turn white with age, after all.”

The shopkeeper felt insulted.

“I’m twenty-six,” the shopkeeper said seriously. “Even by Doran’s average lifespan of a hundred years, I am still quite young.” This average was lowered by Doran’s unstable conditions; in Pennigra’s most habitable places, it wasn’t uncommon for people to live to a hundred and fifty. Of course, they couldn’t compare to the elves and fairies, but it wasn’t impossible for a highly accomplished great mage to live two hundred years.

“Twenty-six.” Dwight, who had just turned eighteen this summer, scoffed, unusually generous in deciding not to argue further about the “young” comment. He tapped his fingers on the carriage table. “Lestrop.”

“Although he hadn’t ascended to his title when I was studying in Doran, this lord was never a nobody. If my memory serves me right, he should be a brother to one of the kings—”

“One of the princes of the Kingdom of Mokwen,” Dwight said solemnly. “That was his status when he sought to marry Priscilla.”

Charlie smiled and didn’t delve deeper into what Dwight said.

“The current king wasn’t the first in line back then. The old king had eleven sons, favoring the fifth, Larmo, but several accidents that took place before his death took Larmo and seven other sons, leaving only the current King Tifah, Duke Baylor, and Earl Lestrop. Interestingly, Lestrop’s title is less than Barlor’s, but his lands and autonomous rights exceed those of Barlor.” Charlie pondered, “Unless it’s a large-scale war or disaster, it doesn’t make sense that eight princes died within just two years, but that’s as far as Cici’s information goes.”

“Royal secrets aren’t easily sold,” Dwight remarked as he elegantly played with his wine glass. “But this is sufficient.”

To think that out of eleven, eight died at once—no one would believe the remaining three were innocent even if they tattooed the word “innocent” on their foreheads. But it didn’t matter. Being born into royalty meant ruthlessly vying for power, and if Priscilla had married a naïve noble, Dwight would have been even more worried—three out of eleven were still better than one out of eight. Otherwise, suddenly becoming a widow one day would be even more troubling.

“Your power is indeed formidable, but it is predicated on the strength of the Pennigra Empire—yet this power doesn’t extend to the continent of Doran. Have you considered what you would do if, after finding your sister, her life is less than ideal?” Charlie asked.

“I’ll take her back to Pennigra,” Dwight said without hesitation.

“She is Lestrop’s lawful wife. Even if you don’t act, just saying that gives him a valid reason to kill you outright,” the shopkeeper said. “Don’t forget under whose land you stand.”

“I’m not a fool,” Dwight said impatiently. “If I were like a country butcher who only knows brute force, why do you think I only brought Shivers and you to Loren?”

Charlie paused. “…Remember, my employment with you has ended. Strictly speaking, you still owe me one payment. On this journey, all you can take with you are—”

He gestured towards Shivers, who was driving the carriage, and Eugene, who was following behind with the tin soldier in the cargo truck.

“Those two. Columbus and I are not included.”

“I can hire you once, I can hire you again,” the Duke said matter-of-factly. “I notice Elena’s influence is also in the south. Geographically, our destinations coincide.”

“I will confirm Priscilla’s situation as soon as possible. If she is well, then I will do my best to achieve your goal,” he stated with a business-like demeanor. “You have been away from Doran for so long. It’s hard to make an accurate assessment of Elena’s current power. Even you wouldn’t think you could take on the southern witch alone, would you?”

“Columbus is with me as well,” Charlie corrected him.

“He’s just a tin soldier. What exactly are you planning to do with him? Use him as a lead ball to knock her unconscious when Elena tries to burn you with fire?”

…So sarcastic.

Charlie admitted, “Alright, assuming I need help, you can’t guarantee you’ll be able to assist me. I remember the astrological results.” To spare the Duke’s feelings, the shopkeeper hadn’t commented on that ominous result, but deep down, he believed the chances of Priscilla being “all well” were about as likely as them growing wings and flying to their destination.

Dwight realized it wasn’t easy to take advantage of a shopkeeper who was rarely off his game.

“At least we can agree to a mutual assistance pact,” the Duke proposed. “If Priscilla needs help, then the more hands available, the better for both of us.”

“Elena’s castle is close to Lestrop’s territory,” the shopkeeper noted. “Where possible, I will help you. But Columbus doesn’t have much time left. If Miss Priscilla’s troubles can’t be resolved quickly…”

“You prioritize him,” Dwight said without hesitation. “I can still spare people to assist you.”

Charlie gave him a look.

“People”, at the moment, only included Shivers and Eugene.

Unless the young Duke had other arrangements in Doran. If so, then perhaps the young Duke was smarter than he appeared. And by disclosing this information, he was also showing a willingness to cooperate.

It would be a bit excessive to try to press him further at this time.

“Either way, I’ll be passing through Lestrop’s territory, and I’ll do my best to help you within my capabilities. But I can’t stay there too long.”

“I understand.” Dwight nodded. “Your purpose for coming to Loren is to lift the curse of the witch from the tin soldier.”

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “Actually, it’s not easy—Elena may not always be in the castle.”

“Isn’t that what you hope for?” Dwight raised an eyebrow. “The curse on the tin soldier doesn’t come entirely from Elena. If I’m not mistaken, the castle itself is the key to the curse.”

Duke Dwight again demonstrated his keen deductive skills and his unpleasantly blunt manner.

Charlie, who had tried to maintain a high stance but failed, secretly hoped to sneak in while Elena was unguarded, perhaps even finding something useful, but such intentions were somewhat clandestine.

However, having lived a few years longer than the Duke of Brandenburg, Charlie, once exposed, serenely nodded with a smile. “Exactly. Strictly speaking, Columbus’s curse is a relic left by Lady Eve. If I’m not wrong, for a curse to persist many years after her death, it must be preserved through some medium, which I suspect is in the castle.”

“If you find that thing, can you break the curse?” Dwight raised an eyebrow. His expression was somewhat disdainful and skeptical, but thanks to his excessively clear eyes, the rudeness was greatly diminished, instead creating an almost naive curiosity.

That was truly a face one could not hate.

Charlie sighed internally.

“I simply never took the mage’s certification exam, but that doesn’t mean all I learned in school has melted away like snow in spring.” He pointed to his head. “I started studying there two years before Elena did.”

The Duke scrutinized him up and down, skepticism clear in his gaze.

“In that case,” the Duke slowly said, “why don’t you resolve your own issues first?”

“What issues?” Charlie retorted.

Dwight stroked his cane and looked up, eyeing Charlie’s conspicuous long ears.

“Surely your head isn’t the handiwork of Lady Eve?” Dwight stated.

“Ah, that would be Elena’s doing. Frankly, her work isn’t neat, all sloppy and dragging. If it were efficient, I’d probably have to walk on all fours most of the time.”

“Even so, you have a way to revert to your original form?”

“Even so, I have a way to revert to my original form.”

The carriage fell silent suddenly. The Duke watched the scenery rolling backwards outside the window, where early spring was beginning to revive the various flora. Occasionally, a mouse or rabbit could be seen foraging behind clumps of earth, but mostly, the ground was still a dry brown or yellow. If it was quiet enough, the light, cheerful sound of ice breaking in nearby streams could be heard.

For a while, neither spoke, quietly watching scenes of early spring countryside fly past the window. After a long while, Dwight finally said, “Then why not resolve it?”

His question seemed out of the blue, but Charlie was always strangely able to pick up on the whimsical Duke’s line of thought.

The shopkeeper stretched languidly in his seat, smiling softly.

“Because I’ve never seen it as a problem,” he said softly.

From the age of eight, the old Duke had brought his son to various noble social events. By twelve, portraits of ladies from all over had nearly filled several rooms in Brandenburg. Dwight considered himself well-versed in various aesthetic forms, but he had to admit that a character like Charlie, who was proud of a rabbit head, was a rarity in his life.

He suspected that Charlie must have been an extraordinarily ugly freak when he had a human head—the kind that even looked better as a rabbit.

But what did that ugliness look like, really?

Naturally handsome, with hair that had been the subject of several odes, the Duke of Brandenburg pondered deeply.

Charlie knew without guessing what the Duke was thinking and said discontentedly, “I didn’t keep the curse because I used to look bad. I just think this way isn’t too bad either.”

Dwight remarked, “I’d say only someone with a mouse head would think a rabbit head is fine.”

“I’ve told you, I was handsome and charming, graceful and elegant. In fact, I was voted ‘the male student most wanted to stay up with to watch the stars’ for three consecutive years at Monterey Academy.” The shopkeeper elegantly adjusted his collar. “But this rabbit head hasn’t obscured the light of my intelligence. Without the limitations of appearance, my personal charm has become even more prominent. As a man of substance, I’ve decided to maintain the status quo.”

Hearing this, Dwight gave him a proper look, seemingly pondering whether it was the “light of intelligence” or “personal charm” in his statement that was harder to tolerate. When he saw the proud expression on that big, furry face, the Duke, who wasn’t fond of animals, chose to remain silent.

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shivers smiled and remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He abruptly stopped himself.

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

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

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

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

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

Cici’s face immediately fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The author has something to say:

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

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, quite a few did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The plump lady stopped her actions and eyed her suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cici shrugged nonchalantly and pointed them in the right direction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rabbit head was missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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