Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 50

“’Investigate the identities of these people’—what’s wrong with that Rabbit Head? Who does he think I am, the King of Mokwen?” the Duke said, frowning as he sat by the window.

A lively gray-blue pigeon hopped around on the windowsill, its round eyes watching him expectantly—Charlie somehow managed to make this pigeon dazed enough to act as a messenger.

Dwight, also puzzled, stared at it, and after a standoff between man and bird, someone behind him finally couldn’t stand it and fed the pigeon a small piece of breadcrumbs.

“The shopkeeper actually has a good sense of proportion. I believe he knows what he’s doing,” Shivers said objectively.

The Knight Commander knew well how difficult his master was to serve, so during a time they were separated unexpectedly, he worried about not having someone to attend to the Duke, fearing his master might do something irrational out of excessive irritability.

For this reason, he had to push Eugene to hurry on the road, so much so that by the time they reached Ropappas, an exhausted Eugene fell into a deep sleep.

When Shivers saw that the Duke, though picky, had settled down properly in the inn, and even that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had given the innkeeper some money to hire the innkeeper’s son to run errands for the Duke, ensuring his comfort without stepping outside, he couldn’t help but speak a few words of thanks for the shopkeeper.

“And that woman is really too much,” the Knight Commander added.

His superior physical condition meant that the forced march hadn’t left a mark of fatigue on his face, and he analyzed rationally. “Her actions are definitely illegal. One person alone couldn’t accomplish this. Surely, there must be influential guests covering for her. Classes below high nobility don’t have the capability to use magic items like flying boxes for secret travel like the King of Mokwen, so the town where the guests are staying can’t be too far from the castle—the shopkeeper has already got the names and addresses, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to investigate.”

“Oh, you want to help him?” Dwight said slowly. “Who was it that burst in here three hours ago, knelt at my feet, and swore ‘never to leave your side again’?

“…I say this because ‘they’ have finally arrived.”

Dwight lifted his eyelids and gave the slightly embarrassed Knight Commander a look.

In fact, for someone of Shivers’s temperament, being able to hold back from rushing out immediately to help flatten the castle with that Rabbit Head and rescue the innocent girls was already a great restraint.

“There’s no ‘them’,” the Duke corrected him. “Two days ago, Erica’s letter arrived. Your little brother has been lost for a while now, and still, no one knows where he is. Everyone else has their own uses.”

Shivers became even more embarrassed when he heard this.

“Let Erica go,” the Duke said nonchalantly. “The Rabbit Head will thank me.”

The Knight Commander’s eyes lit up, then his mood became complicated again.

Always Erica… The excellent Erica.

That was the condition for leaving Lemena back then. A journey with just one knight was too worrying, so the Duke had agreed to the old butler’s request to have the Knight Commander accompany him for protection and also to dispatch other men to infiltrate the Doran continent secretly for support.

The leader chosen at that time was one of Shivers’s knights and Shivers’s lifelong rival, the butler’s child, Erica.

Everyone said that Shivers was as handsome as a brilliant sun, his every move graceful and compelling, but Erica was tall and handsome, excellent in swordsmanship, and also had insights into literature and art. Shivers had always been confident that his efforts wouldn’t be inferior to anyone, but Erica’s presence always gave him a bit of pressure—when he was younger, he even suspected that the Duke might prefer to make Erica his Knight Commander.

But he quickly suppressed this trivial annoyance and uncorked the ink bottle to write a letter to Erica.

Unlike the Duke’s party, Erica’s team entered the Doran continent officially as merchants, which meant dealing with complicated procedures, declarations, and documents much easier for Erica.

They wouldn’t meet face to face, but Erica would provide all possible support—with the power of money.

As for some fool who had gotten lost, the troubled Shivers didn’t want to mention him for the time being.

His knight squadron was strong enough to survive anywhere, but not providing backup with Erica felt like dereliction of duty, and Shivers, who had always been secretly competing with Erica, felt like he had been stabbed in the back while writing the letter.

It was probably because Shivers’ troubled expression was too obvious, the Duke, who had been tormenting the pigeon with a bread stick for a while, suddenly seemed to remember something and said, “A few knights also came with Erica. Let them stay in Syriacochi.”

Shivers understood. “Because of Lady Priscilla?”

At this moment, with no outsiders around, Shivers and the staff of Brandenburg still preferred to use the old title “Lady” rather than “Madame”*—perhaps out of some kind of maternal family psychology, everyone had some complaints about the man who she married who was far away. However, the Duke, who always valued etiquette, never blamed them for it.

*Clarity: In this case, Lady is equivalent to Miss, while Madame is equivalent to Mrs. (married).

After their bold intrusion into the royal palace, the security at the Mokwen palace was expected to increase by two levels, and organizing insiders during this time would be too difficult. Besides, Priscilla wouldn’t stay long at the palace, but managing a temporary base to keep an eye on the palace and the Earl’s residence was still necessary. Having the Brandenburg knights, who were also familiar with Priscilla, perform this task was suitable. It wasn’t an issue, even if Erica was temporarily absent.

However, one thing that always concerned the Duke was that the cause of death of Tifa’s mistress seemed too familiar.

Whether it was Eugene witnessing the tragedy in the dark alley or the oddities at Thorn Manor, the common point was too striking to ignore. The victims were all pregnant women.

The Duke casually threw the whole bread stick at the pigeon, still hopping on the windowsill. The bread was almost as big as the pigeon itself, which made it extremely happy as it pecked vigorously at it.

These few days of brief rest finally gave him time to connect the events he encountered after entering the Doran continent.

As a hereditary noble, he had read many books and documents on magic, but those mentioning “gestation” were few.

Strictly speaking, the content about needing human “gestation” was scarce. Magic, although marvelous, couldn’t create something out of nothing. In some ways, it must follow natural laws.

Just like humans and wild beasts naturally had reproductive isolation, no matter how many crazy alchemists throughout history had tried to refine elements from humans and other races to create new life, all had ended in failure.

Although there may be similarities in appearance, the bloodlines of humans, angels, demons, mermaids, and elves were incompatible. Mixed-race lives only existed in fantasy stories, and even the evilest of black magics could only take life or change life forms, not create out of nothing.

This had always been an infringement of the domain of the gods, destined not to succeed.

Of course, there were madmen with wild ideas, but Dwight didn’t believe there could be so many people suffering from the same madness at once.

If those poor pregnant women who died tragically weren’t experimental subjects for magical creations, then what were they?

He hadn’t forgotten the non-human creatures he accidentally encountered that night, which Rabbit Head called “Lamp Bearers”—if they really came because they listened to the whispers of demons, what exactly were they after? Did the appearance of Yitzfa indicate that the Fox family was also investigating… or following up on this matter?

If the Fox wasn’t just gathering intelligence but was a participant in the events, then the other Black Gold Families couldn’t be uninvolved either. No one understood better than the high nobility the severe rivalries and constraints among the few major families in the underground empire, which was also why they found it difficult to overthrow the existing struggle for power to seize the mantle of authority—power was too evenly balanced, yet there was no common faith. The dark families were like independent hyenas.

Currently, there was too much missing information, and a severe lack of manpower made the Duke somewhat passive, but once Erica appeared, the situation would be different.

Unlike Shivers, who was nearly invincible in close combat, Erica’s strengths lay in her smooth handling of situations and strong coordination abilities.

Even though she only took ten gold coins when she left Lemena, Erica managed to appear when her master needed her, bringing an entire caravan or a mercenary troop—or both.

Shivers always maintained an unnecessary, subtle hostility towards Erica, but actually, Dwight knew well that the areas of their expertise didn’t conflict.

“Not far downstream from where we were separated, there is a secluded estate,” Dwight said. “There are farms, a mill, and vineyards, and in the mountains, there is—” He saw the Knight Commander’s eyes widening and paused.

“There’s also a mansion in the mountains,” Shivers continued. “Originally, Eugene and I thought you might be there! We planned to wait there to meet up, but…”

Dwight raised an eyebrow, remaining silent.

“But as we approached, the area gave me a bad feeling, I judged that you would not settle in such a place. Before leaving, we saw…” Shivers hesitated, seeming troubled about how best to phrase it. “Strange things. I couldn’t make out their faces, but they gave me a very bad feeling.”

Perhaps feeling that his description was too vague, he added, “My intuition told me not to approach them. The accessories you wear are blessed by the God of Light, which repel dark creatures, and you should feel the same way I do.”

On this point, Shivers truly had a unique talent.

Perhaps because of his straightforward and generous nature, he showed a good talent for the clergy when he was very young. If it weren’t for his own strong physical constitution and his preference to join the knights, he would now be holding holy water in his hands instead of a sword.

Even without deep study, Shivers’ keen sense of dark forces still far exceeded that of ordinary people, and this was one of the reasons he had defeated many competitors to firmly hold the position directly behind Duke Dwight.

Often, the Knight Commander was like a human-shaped early warning device. When malicious black magic was still around the corner in the streets, his hair would stand on end like a wildcat’s.

“That estate is very strange,” Dwight said calmly. “I trust your intuition, and I trust my own. I believe that the secrets buried in that estate are connected to the answers we are seeking.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 49

“Escaping” was taboo in the castle. It wasn’t just acting on it. Even uttering a similar-sounding word could result in a terrible fate. Trust among those around was nonexistent. No one knew who would report them to Mistress Daisy—the moment the thought arose in anyone’s mind, severe punishment would be administered.

Daphne had been at the Black Castle longer than Alice and knew the rules and what to fear even more deeply. She knew that if she reported what Alice had just said to Mistress Daisy, her current roommate could disappear—like her previous roommate Heather, possibly becoming fertilizer in the rose garden or being carted away to be dumped where the hyenas roamed… They never came back. Alice surely knew this too.

Daphne didn’t know if she was insane, but she seemed to have no regrets about what she had said—she even appeared unafraid. Under Daphne’s suspicious gaze, she was just nervously, overly excitedly shaking, her eyes staring intensely at her.

“Do you not want to leave?” Alice asked again.

Daphne almost jumped on the spot like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“You’re crazy,” she said quickly. “Shut up.”

Alice stepped closer.

“I’m not crazy. I’m going to find a way out of this hellhole, with Lily. If possible, everyone will leave together.”

Daphne, normally so haughty, lost her bluster and said in a panic, “I’m going to report you. Yes, I will tell Mother, and you’ll be in big trouble.”

Alice didn’t move closer. She stood her ground, watching Daphne coldly.

“You won’t,” Alice said. “Because you want to leave too. Don’t you remember Heather? I’ll tell you. I have a way—”

“Stop!” Daphne cut her off sharply, then quickly averted her gaze, grabbing a glove haphazardly, bumping into Alice, and stumbling out of the room.

As Daphne’s figure disappeared down the corridor, Alice slumped to the floor.

This castle wasn’t a castle in the strict sense that it was home to the nobility. Without moats or watchtowers, it only had large floor-to-ceiling windows hidden by heavy curtains and ancient carpets in the corridors.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, it was dinner time for all the girls. They were arranged on either side of two long tables, each given a chunk of coarse bread and a serving of cold pea soup.

Mistress Daisy didn’t always stay in the castle, but whether she was in town or not, two tall, silent men with grim faces would monitor the door. They helped in the kitchen and also acted as Mistress Daisy’s enforcers when needed.

Alice had little appetite but slowly finished her bread. After dinner, Daphne, who hadn’t made eye contact during the meal, caught up with her in the corridor.

“Bringing food for your little sister again?” she asked with a hint of provocation.

She knew Alice had been secretly saving her soup for several days, heating it with a candle stub for her sister.

Alice, usually intimidated by the strong-willed Daphne, felt an unusual mix of concern for her sister and accumulated anger, allowing her to respond coldly, “Yes.”

Daphne eyed her suspiciously, as if confirming whether Alice had lost her mind. “You…”

As the crowd began to thin out from the stairs, with the guards some distance away, Daphne seemed to make a decision, her voice low and tense, “You said you had a way?”

Alice stopped in her tracks, appearing calm.

“Yes,” she said.

The castle’s security was unexpectedly weak. For some reason, the castle’s owner seemed to think it was unnecessary to invest much in security. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper spent only slightly more effort to understand the general layout and some “secrets” inaccessible to the girls.

Among the so-called “managers”, there were no proper mercenaries. The men capable of acting as force numbered no more than five, and the kitchen staff and stable boys were hardly a threat.

This was quite contradictory. Although the girls appeared weak due to long-term malnutrition and mental torture, according to Alice, if over thirty girls were determined and courageous enough to unite, they had a chance to revolt successfully.

But no one seemed to have ever considered this before.

This was telling—controlling so many people with non-violent means either meant that Mistress Daisy was a master hypnotist, or she was using magical powers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper inadvertently discovered the answer during an investigation (while snacking on some bread). He found a handwritten recipe in a spice cabinet in the kitchen listing several hallucinogenic plants combined with one or two basic magical ingredients. Anyone literate could follow the recipe to brew a pot of potent potion.

It appeared the girls were being drugged through their food.

Such a rudimentary potion might not be very effective at first, but over time, a cumulative effect was inevitable: the will to resist softened, and in worse cases, completely subdued, eradicating all rebellious thoughts.

Charlie rubbed his furry chin. Considering this, the shaking girl Alice, who could still struggle for self-preservation and covertly gather information under such conditions, must either have been clever enough to dump her food or was extraordinarily brave, or perhaps both.

“The ball” was the core secret of the castle. Mistress Daisy once boasted to the girls that only selected guests were invited to participate in the balls held under moonlight.

“They use special invitations to pass through the castle gates, seeing the girls who bloom like flowers under the moonlight,” Alice told Charlie. “Anyone uninvited would only see the cold stone walls, black velvet drapes, and silent furniture.”

In the limited time available, the girl provided the stranger with all the information she could. While Mistress Daisy wasn’t in the castle, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper ascended the long spiral staircase to the top-floor library.

Unlike the guards who could be mistaken for ordinary farmers if they picked up a hoe, the highest floor of the library had an unusually guarded entrance—a tall, straight-backed borug hound with a fierce look.

Just as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper stepped onto the last segment of stairs, the hound perked up its ears and growled lowly—prompting him to immediately retract his step.

A bit of a problem.

These dogs were large, agile, and notably aggressive. They were originally bred for hunting, but because of their ferocity, they had recently become fixtures in the fighting pits of certain underground arenas. With exceptional senses and quick reactions, it was nearly impossible to slip past one into the gap between it and the wall behind it without alerting it, even though he could see the dark walnut door behind it.

The girls might have no way to deal with such a terrifying creature—just hearing its barks from a distance was enough to keep them away from the top-floor corridor.

Unfortunately for it, dealing with hounds was precisely what rabbits excelled at.

The borug hound was physically strong but notoriously distractible—a trait it had yet to overcome. Charlie hid at the corner of the stairwell, listening intently to the sounds from the study while discreetly pulling a wind-up pocket watch from his pocket. The clock showed it was nearing midnight. Due to frequent use, the watch gleamed under the candlelight, making it quite conspicuous.

He dismantled the watch case, fiddling with the gears for a moment until four spring-loaded, suction-cupped, slender legs popped out from the sides of the now oval watch—it was a peculiar gadget he had acquired from a nearly bankrupt shop near the border during his travels across the continent. The shop was filled with bizarre mechanical trinkets that operated mainly on mechanics, noted for their unusual uses and low production.

Locals considered it a novelty joke shop and rarely patronized it, but the rabbit headed shopkeeper saw these gadgets as no less intriguing than magical artifacts and had negotiated a fair price for them.

The transformed watch, resembling a glittering golden spider, was set down by Charlie and swiftly scurried away. Five seconds later, the loud alarm rang out, almost simultaneously followed by the hound’s barking.

Charlie, pressed against the wall, waited until the hound chased the watch towards another staircase before darting into the corridor and turning the doorknob.

Mistress Daisy’s study was as he had envisioned it—walls up to the ceiling covered in deep purple wallpaper, decorated with many ornate plates, mostly featuring intricate patterns. The room was cluttered with several walnut desks and cabinets haphazardly placed, including a single desk without a chair that held only a large black leather-bound book and another desk that held a teapot and alarm clock. Only one desk looked actively used, equipped with an ink bottle and quill pen. All the desks were draped with lace cloths.

Upon entering, Charlie understood why the hound hadn’t detected him immediately while he was on the stairs. The room’s fireplace was out, but the air was filled with a heavy aroma of mixed spices, almost pungently overwhelming. This scent nearly pervaded the space, insurmountable even by the front door, causing any fine sense of smell to falter after prolonged exposure.

Charlie quickly shut the door behind him. Perhaps the owner was overly confident in the hound’s capabilities, as most drawers in the study were unlocked. He casually opened one, mostly filled with various styles of envelopes, along with a few documents and newspapers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t sit down but stood by the desk, examining a letter that had already been written. The ink bottle was capped, and the quill was neatly placed in its holder, prompting him to lean in to read the letter.

Respected Mr. Fritzsche,

We have received your donation for the girls’ school. The funds will be used for repairs to the school ceilings and purchasing outing dresses for the students.

As a token of our appreciation, I cordially invite you to join my tea party on the third Friday of this month to discuss details concerning the procurement of the spring outing dresses.

Yours faithfully,

Daisy Miller

There was no spare blank envelope next to the letter, nor anything that looked like an invitation.

After pondering for a moment, Charlie placed the letter back on the desk and turned his attention to a cabinet beside the desk. The top drawer’s handle was notably smoother than the others. Quietly rifling through various files, he managed to find useful information and left the study unnoticed before the watch lured the hound back.

Although the watch’s springy legs were thin, they were fast—it moved like a real spider across the carpet, ringing intermittently just when the hound was about to lose its trail.

The hunting instinct completely distracted the hound from its guard duties. It chased the watch around several times, and by the time it returned panting to the study door, Charlie was already pocketing the nearly wound-down watch at the staircase.

The documents and letters in the study offered much more detailed information than Alice had provided. He now had a good understanding of the true nature of the castle—Mistress Daisy was using terror tactics to control the girls, forcing them to stay and serve the guests like dishes on a buffet at her parties.

Meanwhile, she masqueraded as a benefactor who established a boarding school for young girls orphaned from their families, using her role as headmistress to mingle with local dignitaries for donations and investments.

Fortunately, this wicked woman was so paranoid that even the castle’s “managers” weren’t allowed in the upper corridors—she trusted only the simple-minded, strong-bodied hound, perhaps believing only an animal could truly keep her secrets.

Unfortunately for her, she encountered the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Always considering himself quite capable, Charlie felt his evening’s goals had been largely met. He adjusted the top hat on his head, climbed over the cold walls, and took one last look at the dark silhouette of the castle in the night before leaving.

He pressed the half-sheet of paper in his coat pocket—the names of the guests for Daisy ‘Headmistress’ Miller’s next tea party were scribbled there.

Only those individuals possessed the invitations needed to attend the party.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 48

Alice watched as the flames ignited out of nowhere and screamed, dropping the small glass vial she was holding. The vial rolled at her feet. The liquid contents inside quickly drained away—but she was too distraught to care because a tall, thin shadow stepped out from the fire!

Though she had imagined such a scenario countless times, the reality of seeing it left Alice both shocked and frightened. A sliver of rational thought reminded her that her ritual had succeeded.

She had actually succeeded.

She was successful.

The trembling girl went blank, all her mental preparations dissolving in extreme terror. She didn’t even dare to look up, instead remaining stiffly in a kneeling position with her head low, exposing her fragile, slender nape—a posture of complete submission.

“Who are you?” the “person” who emerged from the fire asked in a low voice.

Alice visibly shuddered, bowing her head even lower.

“My name is Alice.”

“Why have you summoned me?”

“I… I beg you to lend me your power.” Alice was a determined girl. Although the voice clearly belonged to a man—contrary to her original intent to summon a witch—she heard that witches could change their appearances at will, so changing gender might also be within their capabilities. Moreover, she was already resolved. Though she couldn’t help feeling scared, she was prepared for the worst, no matter what she had summoned.

The figure remained silent. Alice gathered her thoughts and courageously continued, “My sister and I have been imprisoned, facing a future of endless humiliation and torture. I seek assistance from the dark and unknown. If my sister can be safe and free, I am willing to offer everything in seeking your help, including my soul of flesh and blood… I beg you.”

Despite feeling an icy chill in her stomach and being stiff with fear, her good upbringing allowed her to keep the conversation going. The ritual fire had already extinguished, and she felt the figure approaching her in the dark. Her forehead began to ache, and the feeling of dizziness intensified—

“Breathe,” the voice instructed.

Alice paused, realizing she had been so tense that she had forgotten to breathe.

But more surprises were to follow.

“—Miss Alice, you know in your heart that such a half-baked magic circle can’t fulfill your wishes, right?”

Charlie crouched down. Even in the darkness, he tried to make eye contact with the girl, who couldn’t stop trembling. “I’m sorry, but you’ve summoned just an innocent bystander.”

Alice raised her head, barely making out a vague humanoid silhouette. The conversation seemed to have drained all her energy, rendering her momentarily voiceless.

The shopkeeper, summoned by the mysterious magical fire, looked around. It seemed they were in a huge wooden box. The surroundings were empty and dimly lit, allowing him to see some stones (perhaps salt crystals) on the ground, slowly burning sage and mint, and weirdly shaped mummies, possibly lizards or geckos.

An unorganized summoning spell. Perhaps even the incantations were cobbled together without any effect.

Such disorganized “magic” wasn’t uncommon among the folk, but most of the time it yielded no results. Honestly, it was evident that the girl knew nothing about magic, and the ritual and procedures were full of errors. Yet, she somehow managed to summon him from an alley in Ropappas, which was indeed odd.

“You… aren’t a witch?” Alice slowly processed Charlie’s words, suddenly engulfed by immense despair. “But you…”

Have a rabbit head.

And don’t look human at all.

Charlie knew what she was thinking but could only shrug regretfully. “I didn’t choose to look like this. It’s just an evil curse. I’d be happy to tell you my story under the sunlight, but please move aside, miss. You don’t mind if I open the door, right? Sorry, I’m a bit allergic to boxes…”

He found something resembling a door seam. As he was about to push it open, Alice suddenly came to her senses and stopped him.

“No! They might be right outside.”

Charlie raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture, reluctant to meddle but unable to remain indifferent to a frightened girl’s tears.

“Who’s outside?” he asked in a lowered voice.

“‘Mother’s’ people,” Alice said, looking at him without showing any surprise or fear at the rabbit-headed figure in front of her. “She never allows girls to escape. I wasn’t trying to run away. I just wanted to find a place where no one was to summon…”

Charlie promptly interrupted her.

“Holch’s Second Principle: No matter what you find, never casually recite their names around magical items,” he said sternly. “Belief can resonate with their names and cause magical fluctuations. Without preparation, a trade can turn into a sacrifice.”

Alice looked at his fuzzy, prominently eared head silhouette, speechless.

“Seeking the unknown is like pouring water into boiling oil, miss. Why would you do something so dangerous?”

Alice seemed to be jolted back to reality by his question, suddenly convulsing a bit then quietly sobbing.

Just as Charlie had observed, she knew nothing about magic, but she was educated enough to recite some complex ancient texts, which allowed her to barely manage the incantations and complete the ritual.

Three months ago, Alice herself would never have imagined resorting to such ludicrous means for help. She and her sister, Lily, were the daughters of a country gentleman—not the most respectable nobility, but still well-off and carefree.

Five months ago, while on a holiday in the south with their governess, they encountered bandits; the coachman and governess were killed, and only she, her sister, and a maid were taken to a secluded castle, along with many other unfortunate girls.

They told Alice that the castle’s mistress, a woman named Mistress Daisy, claimed to be all the girls’ “Mother”.

The castle held secret balls every moonlit night, during which the girls were required to dress up, do their hair, and dance with all the guests. To Mistress Daisy, these young girls were no different from the bacon and champagne on the table.

Once the music stopped and the lights went out, the guests left the castle, and like sheep briefly allowed to graze, the girls were trapped in the castle with no freedom. Any girl who resisted would be starved, and indeed, some did starve to death.

Because Alice and her sister Lily were educated and could play the piano and recite poetry, “Mother” would provide them with embroidered gowns and introduce them to pickier guests.

Lily had always been sickly. Their vacation was also to let her spend winter in a warmer place to ease her cough. There had been no balls for a long time due to the cold winter, giving the girls a break, but lately, Lily had been feverish repeatedly, and Mistress Daisy’s patience was running thin. Desperate, Alice turned to black magic, remembered from her random readings, hoping at least to save Lily.

Charlie frowned in the darkness. This type of coercion wasn’t typical for the Fox family, and no small workshop could operate on such a scale—truthfully, even in those chaotic underground cities, such events were rare.

He considerately kept his distance from the still-trembling, frail girl. The manager of the castle she mentioned seemed to be a tyrannical woman. She would mercilessly torture any girl who dared to flee or resist, ensuring their screams and struggles would be deeply imprinted on everyone’s mind.

Over time, almost everyone gave up resisting. If not for her sister, Alice wouldn’t have had the courage to gather ritual supplies and sneak out of her room unnoticed to hastily perform a summoning spell.

Unfortunately, the magic didn’t succeed.

Although the shopkeeper believed himself to be quite capable, he wasn’t the powerful magical creature Alice had hoped for, able to summon thunder and lightning to level the ugly castle.

But the shopkeeper had his ways.

He convinced Alice, who was deeply mired in sorrow, to calm down. To comfort her, he agreed to help investigate the mysterious castle and, if possible, seek outside assistance for her.

“You will help me…?” Alice looked at him blankly, her vision blurred by tears.

“Though I am not a witch, I may have something of interest to you. We could make a trade if you like,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said.

Alice struggled to pull herself from her sadness, sounding uncertain. “Can you get me out of here?”

“No, I am not a mercenary, and it’s best not to confront bad people directly,” Charlie said in a soothing, low voice. “But perhaps I can help you achieve your wish.”

Alice’s wish was clear. She wanted to leave with her sister.

Despite her chaotic emotions, she maintained some clarity while still sniffling. “A trade… What do you want from me? I have nothing but my soul to offer right now.”

“Like I said, I am not a witch.” Charlie sighed, handing her a clean, plain handkerchief. “I’ve seen situations like yours before… Don’t worry. I don’t intend to use our deal for any nefarious purposes. As for compensation, we can discuss that once this is all over.”

He looked at the young girl calmly, knowing the deal was settled. There was nothing more compelling to a person in desperation than hope itself, and this girl was ready to sacrifice her soul.

According to the rules of 22 Paulownia Street, it was up to the shopkeeper to judge whether a client truly had nothing left.

In the eyes of the girls, the closed-off castle was much like a heavily guarded prison, but to the shopkeeper, who had managed to infiltrate even royal palaces, it was another matter.

With agile skills and a bit of misdirection, the patrolling guards almost never stood a chance of catching him, and if he wished to leave, he didn’t even need to wait for nightfall.

Charlie crouched in the shadow of an ornate cabinet, rubbing his fingers.

Even if he hadn’t made a deal with Alice, a gentleman couldn’t simply ignore the tears of a frightened girl. True to his nature as a women’s advocate and troublemaker, Charlie decided to conduct some preliminary investigations before leaving temporarily—entirely out of a sense of justice and not as an excuse to leave the Duke hanging in the inn.

Alice returned to her cramped room, where she was greeted by her roommate Daphne’s shrieking accusations of stealing her hair ribbon.

The castle strictly forbade girls from staying alone in a room. Each room had to house at least three girls so they could keep an eye on each other. Informants reporting unfaithful thoughts among roommates were rewarded.

Daphne wasn’t easy to get along with. Under normal circumstances, Alice would have argued with her, but her mind was so consumed by what the rabbit-headed Charlie had told her that she could hardly hear Daphne’s ranting.

Daphne, getting no response, grew angrier and pushed her. “Give me back my hair ribbon!”

Alice stumbled back, then suddenly looked up sharply at Daphne. Daphne paused, sensing something was off. She knew Alice had been under a lot of pressure because of Lily’s condition, but…

Alice, still staring intently into Daphne’s eyes with an abnormal, fervent zeal, said, “I want to leave here.”

Daphne’s expression changed instantly.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 47

Although called a city, Ropappas couldn’t compare at all with Maplewood or any other towns near the royal city. The local officials seemed to follow a policy of seclusion and self-sufficiency, with the main city of Ropappas heavily guarded and even the population flow between its satellite towns considerably sluggish.

However, for the Duke and the shopkeeper, slipping past a few guards and entering the city was relatively easy. But in such rural areas, both the furry rabbit head and the Duke of Brandenburg’s hereditary good looks tended to attract attention and potentially cause a sensation, forcing them to don long gray cloaks again—probably because the cloaks were unattractive. Unless necessary, Dwight was reluctant to even step out of the inn room.

Isolation most often directly indicated poverty.

Without the flow of goods, money, and people, the whole city-state was like a sluggish puddle, lacking any vitality. Apart from the upper city area, most houses along the main streets were low and old. The oxen and horses pulling carts were skinny, and the cries of the street vendors sounded lethargic.

Charlie had his own way of dealing with people. Even with his head tightly wrapped, it didn’t stop him from operating effectively. He casually spent a few copper coins on a small handmade pottery jug, chatting with the owner while observing the passersby.

High taxes and isolation made the faces of ordinary people in Ropappas look gray and gloomy. The shepherds in Lemena seemed much happier by comparison.

This explained why Thorn Manor could easily recruit so many young girls. Let alone the surrounding towns, even Ropappas was in such a state. Who could refuse a job that offers a solution to hunger in such times?

If one could eat coarse bread without twigs and stones, who would care whether the employer was suspicious and dangerous?

Charlie left the main road, buying some towels, change of clothes, flint, and tobacco (on the Duke’s expense), and deliberately took a few extra turns, using his experience to navigate to the lower city area teeming with a mix of characters, targeting a vendor selling black magic items.

If it were Eugene, he would have a better way to quickly blend into the local environment, but dealing with a down-and-out vendor was also something the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was confident in.

The vendor by the wall had dirty, tangled hair, and his old, long coat was adorned with a jumble of necklaces and trinkets. He also held some grimy items, haphazardly trying to sell his cursed ingredients to the passersby.

It was just the beginning of spring, and after a long winter, most people didn’t have extra food or money to trade. Given his filthy appearance, no one stopped to give him a second look for a long while.

So when Charlie stopped in front of him, the vendor immediately straightened up with delight.

“Good day, sir,” he said in a gruff voice. “No troubles bothering you, I hope?”

Charlie lowered his voice. “What good items do you have?” He spoke in Mokwen’s common language, but somewhat awkwardly.

The vendor, hearing the foreign accent, shifted his eyes and led him into a deeper, sunless part of the alley, ready to fleece this unfamiliar rich man.

But after only a few sentences, he sensed something was off. This man was no novice to magic. Not only did he see through the fakes the vendor wore, but he also caught several mistakes about curse magic.

Good heavens, he was just an ordinary second-hand dealer. Although he claimed he had the most powerful black magic items, he knew nothing about magic—people without money or power couldn’t even learn to write, let alone study magic. Even low-level black magic required strong backing and finances to research, which wasn’t something he could access.

If this man was a mage, then he wasn’t someone the vendor could afford to provoke. The vendor regretted a bit, but after he slipped up, the stranger seemed to lose interest and turned to leave.

Normally, the vendor wouldn’t have said another word, but he hadn’t had bread for two days now, and he had no wood to heat water that night. The desperate hunger made him hoarsely shout, “Please wait!”

Charlie stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I can take you to ‘Crazy Kyle’,” the vendor said quickly. “He’s my boss… He has real stuff—truly magical, good stuff. If even he doesn’t have what you need, I guarantee, the whole of Ropappas won’t satisfy you.”

The fish had bitten the hook. Although no one could see, Charlie restrained a pleased expression and slightly turned his head. “I only want the best.”

“Can a witch who disappeared for years still be considered ‘the best’?” Dwight frowned, looking at a raven skull on the table, and said with disgust.

“That at least shows my journey is in the right direction,” Charlie said. “So far.”

He had just visited that “shop” selling black magic items and seen for himself. There weren’t many items genuinely imbued with magic, but this raven skull was one, with a trace of magic residue that was indeed Elena’s aura.

Like autonomous nobles, mages also had their territories.

White mages under the church who worshiped the God of Light usually controlled the power structures; thus, they received support in wealth and influence. The academy where Charlie and Elena studied in their youth was part of this power branch.

This system effectively spreads their influence to major cities but also subjects them to royal constraints.

Black magic, actually freer in magical study, could delve into various taboos strictly prohibited by the church but also got branded as evil, easily provoking persecution, thus avoiding the church for self-preservation.

Black magic was like the shadow of white magic. They didn’t intersect directly, but they coexisted in the dark. Unlike white mages, black mages operated independently, rarely banding together, were very territorial, though covert, and also left various traces to warn peers not to encroach on their activity area.

In a royal city like Syriacochi, it was difficult to find traces of black magic, but in Ropappas, it was quite straightforward, and this raven skull proved it.

Dwight wasn’t interested in witches, but Ropappas was part of Mokwen, and though Mokwen didn’t ban magic, it didn’t revere the church like other magic-embracing countries. Even the large royal palace couldn’t find two decent mages, let alone nobles below the King.

In this environment, secretly connecting with mages for some underhanded business wasn’t difficult. If any royal family member—even secretly—had connections with the church, Elena, a witch, wouldn’t have so brazenly left one of her totems in Ropappas.

To common folk, the royal city seemed distant, needing several days of fast riding, but to those who knew magic, it wasn’t an impossible distance for a quick response. Recalling the bizarre murder in the palace, Dwight frowned, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Whether it was the distance between southern lord Lestrop and his brother Tifa or Priscilla’s distance from the Mokwen monarchy, it all felt too close, giving him a sense of foreboding.

He knew his sister. Priscilla wasn’t the kind of woman who merely managed her castle and manor with maids. The Dwight family had an innate grasp for power, especially Priscilla, who’d seen downturns and rock bottoms. She would never be blind to her surroundings, following her husband without question.

Lemena and Mokwen were far apart, but regular messengers connected them. Yet he had never received any help or even hints from his sister. If it weren’t for the wilting of Priscilla’s rose, he wouldn’t have noticed anything was wrong.

Even though he had come all this way, Priscilla still wouldn’t say anything, merely asking him to leave immediately.

Immediately.

That was highly unusual. While Dwight’s unauthorized entry into Doran wasn’t something to make public, it wasn’t entirely without room for maneuvering.

To suddenly see her brother after several years, the expected reaction from Priscilla would have been surprise, then a slight rebuke, followed by taking him back to her domain, exchanging stories, letting him rest, and then sending him back to Pennigra with extra people to ensure safety. Instead, she hurriedly sent him away.

Her response only indicated one thing: Priscilla currently lacked power, so her quick judgment to have her brother immediately return to the Dwight family’s territory was the safest option—when she was struggling to manage on her own, her brother’s unexpected arrival would only make matters more chaotic.

Though their meeting was brief, Dwight wasn’t really questioning the words of Astrologer Kurt—it was just his excuse to lash out at Charlie.

He and Priscilla were full siblings and had always been close. Just as Priscilla quickly decided her brother should leave Mokwen, Dwight immediately sensed that Priscilla’s situation wasn’t as relaxed as she let on.

Out of caution, he wouldn’t approach Syriacochi or his brother-in-law Lestrop’s domain soon, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take any action.

Dwight leaned back in his chair, unconsciously twisting the silver ring on his middle finger.

Before leaving Pennigra, he had made arrangements. Besides Shivers, another group from his order of knights and household staff had covertly infiltrated Doran to provide backup.

If all went well, Shivers had already delivered his message, and although the two were temporarily separated, Charlie could somewhat fill in for Shivers, making life not too unbearable.

Thinking of this, Dwight looked over at the desk. Charlie was carefully wrapping the raven skull, intending to throw it into a corner where stray dogs gathered after dark. He unintentionally looked up to see the young Duke staring at him, causing the fur on the back of his head to stand on end.

With their close interaction over time, the perceptive shopkeeper gradually deciphered the Duke of Brandenburg’s expression code. This look was all too familiar; it meant the Duke was inexplicably annoyed again, plotting to mess with him.

Heaven knows, he’d never seen the Duke in a good mood!

Before, Shivers had acted as a buffer, and the friction wasn’t so apparent. But after spending more time with the Duke, Charlie realized he was even more difficult to serve than he appeared.

Dwight could tell from Charlie’s rabbit face that he was silently mocking him. He snorted, but before he could speak, there was a knock at the door.

The affluent Duke had reserved two large suites on the inn’s top floor to avoid being disturbed by other guests, so it could only be a servant knocking.

Charlie silently breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed his cloak, walked through the sitting room, and opened the door. A boy, about thirteen or fourteen, stood in the hallway. He was a little sweaty and nervous, suggesting he had run quite a bit.

Charlie didn’t open the door entirely, blocking half his body behind it. He spoke quietly with the boy for a moment, then shut the door and returned to the study—though it was more like a sitting area between the living room and bedroom with half a corridor and half a bay window. The inn utilized space well, placing a relatively elegant desk, a single chair, and a small, low bookcase in the area with a large, bright window. The Duke sat at the desk without looking up.

“The kid says he’s registered the advertisement per your instructions and thanks you for your generosity,” Charlie said thoughtfully.

Any city of considerable size had a hall, cathedral, or square. The Duke had instructed a young employee from the inn to run an errand, posting a notice on the public square’s bulletin board in Ropappas (the content was just a regular missing person ad or obituary). Only Shivers or people from Brandenburg could understand the coded message indicating the Duke’s location.

After sending the boy away, Charlie thought that since he already had his cloak on, he might as well leave to deal with the raven skull and keep his distance from the grumpy young Duke.

Ever since he made that joke about long-haired dogs, the Duke had become like a snarling pup, always finding a moment to nip at him. This time, he seemed genuinely angry. No matter what he said, the Duke wouldn’t make peace.

Charlie was deep in thought as he went downstairs. Before leaving, he reflexively tried to tip his hat to an unfamiliar gentleman entering the lobby, but then realized he was wearing a thick cloak and sighed inwardly, pretending nothing had happened as he walked out the inn’s front door into the sunny, bustling street.

If possible, he preferred not to confront Elena face-to-face.

That witch’s hatred toward him was hard to dissolve. Even after all these years, Charlie didn’t believe her rage would be dampened by time, and she certainly wouldn’t be eager to break the curse for Columbus.

The best approach would be to sneak into her home without alerting her. If he could obtain her notes or potion formulas, he could decipher her magical properties…

Charlie kept thinking while quickly stepping into a dark and damp alleyway, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the paper bag with the raven skull, intending to burn it.

If his occult teacher saw this, he’d likely be furious and scold him for disregarding the “Three Principles of Holch” when dealing with magical items to avoid any accidents.

But Charlie was never a well-behaved student. He always came up with random ideas during experiments, ruining his teacher’s patience. Thinking of this, he smiled slightly and extended his right hand to snap his fingers. A small, bright blue flame flickered from his knuckles.

“I won’t recite your name,” Charlie said in a low voice, playfully flicking the flame with his finger, allowing it to catch the paper bag and slowly spread. “So you’ll never find me—” Before he could finish, the flame suddenly roared up to half a person’s height, changing from blue to purple, reflecting a startled face.

Charlie instinctively took a step back but stumbled on thick moss. Before he could regain his footing, the flame rushed at him, engulfing him in less than a second before quickly dying out, leaving the alleyway dark again. The half-burnt paper bag rolled into a corner.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 46

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sighed deeply again.

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

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

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

He refocused on the Mokwen royal family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

Chapter 45

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

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

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

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

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

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

Columbus immediately fell silent.

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

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

The boy: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old goat he was riding bleated in agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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