Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 122

Shiloh tiptoed through the corridor, though he didn’t really need to be so cautious, as the carpet was of such good quality that it absorbed most of the sound of his footsteps.

Still, he was startled when he saw someone coming towards him, and immediately relaxed when he saw it was the Knight Commander.

Shivers raised an eyebrow at him. “Where have you been?”

Shiloh’s gaze wandered. “Just walked around outside… It’s my first time in White Bridge.”

“Oh,” Shivers said softly. “But I didn’t hear the sound of a carriage.”

The functional zones of the inner city were clearly divided: the auction house, reading hall, opera house, and clubs were all concentrated in the central part, radiating out into five areas—guest area, food and shopping area, transportation and logistics area, and two management areas occupied by the Wolf and Monkey families.

Their location in the guest area was chosen to be peaceful amid the bustle, and was the farthest from other areas, necessitating the use of carriages or other means of transportation—even if the distance wasn’t far, those staying in the guest area of White Bridge wouldn’t usually demean themselves by walking.

Shiloh didn’t hold much hope of lying to the Knight Commander and quickly gave up resisting. “I just wanted to chat with them for a bit.”

He was referring to the mercenaries who had been idly earning their keep since entering Fortuna City.

Thanks to the lead navigation of the “Azalea”, they had traveled safely, and even if they had encountered pirates, a few knights were confident they could protect the Duke’s safety. The mercenaries were just there to bolster their numbers.

But from the Duke to the mercenaries, none thought this trade was a loss. Like successful businessmen who often flaunt their wealth with extravagant houses and jewelry, security forces were a symbol of one’s class status. Erica even provided them with uniform combat suits to boost their appearance.

Shiloh wasn’t naive enough to be attracted by the mercenaries’ aura of danger and rough manners. He was only interested in their adventurous experiences and some insider information—unlike them, he was a complete outsider in White Bridge, but mercenaries, especially those with long-term service, had experience in similar missions and sometimes shared intelligence among themselves. They knew a lot more than expected.

But they weren’t willing to share.

Shiloh’s usually successful, charming demeanor hit a wall with these mercenaries, who were more indifferent than most. They were willing to interact with Eugene and even had a respectful admiration for Hasting, but they only ignored Shiloh. Whenever they gathered together, whispering and occasionally bursting into ambiguous collective laughter, Shiloh’s presence would abruptly stop the warm atmosphere, their mouths clamping shut tighter than clamshells.

The sense of not being able to fit in was secondary. The obvious resistance was rather hurtful.

Shiloh himself was still a young man, from a well-to-do family, and of high quality. He had never been so disliked before. When questioned by the Knight Commander, a defiant look appeared on his face.

Shivers laughed and pinched his mouth even tighter. “They avoid you for another reason.”

Shiloh’s round eyes widened, filled with more confusion.

“There are many activities here not suitable for minors,” Shivers said. “They just think you’re still a child.”

Though tall, Shiloh clearly possessed the vibrant spirit unique to youth.

“Some activities in White Bridge aren’t quite suitable for bedtime stories.” Shivers released Shiloh’s mouth. “We’d better not create unnecessary complications.”

Shiloh understood. “You mean those programs?”

Besides the auction catalogs, there were many flyers distributed daily here, more punctual than the official newspapers of the capital. These included content for first-time visitors as well as various invitations, which were written in slang about various enhancers and price lists.

Most of these programs were written ambiguously, incomprehensible to most—a surprising fact was that the mercenaries seemed to vaguely understand some of them. Hasting had once taken one to consult with them.

The mercenaries were polite to Hasting, and since he was after all their employer and these things had nothing to do with their contract, they had somewhat freely “translated” it for him.

To sum it up in a word, it was utterly vulgar and bizarre.

Anyway, after knowing what those slangs meant, the Duke’s gaze at the invitations was like looking at a virus, and Shivers also found it too… indescribable.

Nobility, especially those from ancient noble circles, weren’t strangers to sordid affairs. Shiloh was no fool. Realizing this, he silently made an “O” shape with his mouth.

“Our Lord has already gone to sleep. You don’t need to be so careful,” Shivers said.

The little foodie, Emerald, unexpectedly had a lot of spirit. Since the crow buffet, it hadn’t eaten anything, but it also refused to give in. After moving in, the Duke spent all day and every day enduring it in the bedroom, and with the newly awakened Emerald being extremely energetic, both parties were very tired and irritable.

“When will Mr. Charlie come back?” Shiloh was a bit disheartened. The Duke’s personality had changed a lot during this period on the Doran Continent. He had almost forgotten how arrogant, mysophobic, and moody his master used to be.

In recent days, the Duke’s practical actions had reminded everyone of his skill at making those around him unhappy when he himself was displeased.

Actually, Shiloh didn’t think too much. He simply felt that the Duke’s temper was better when the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was around, making everyone more relaxed.

There were people in the world who, like a gentle breeze or a soft stream, possessed qualities that were independent of their appearance or status, and could only be truly felt after spending time with them.

Shiloh didn’t dare say it out loud, but sometimes he secretly felt that in terms of dealing with people, the shopkeeper and the Duke were at two extremes.

Of course, Shivers knew that Shiloh was probably grumbling about the Duke internally. He curved his finger, intending to flick this troublesome guy on the forehead, but Shiloh immediately covered his messy, curly-haired forehead.

“I’m just worried about him,” Shiloh defended. “I didn’t say anything—”

“If you’re really bored, just watch over the Lord for a while for me.” Shivers sighed, dropping his hand.

Shiloh wouldn’t refuse work, but he was curious. “Are you going out again?”

“I need to contact Erica,” Shivers replied. “It’s much easier to arrange a meeting here than in Mokwen.”

……

Dwight wanted to see Priscilla for two reasons: firstly, to see for himself how she was doing physically, and secondly, to make some early preparations for the auction.

They had eyes and ears in Syriacochi, but the information was somewhat delayed. Instead, it was from Yitzfa where reports arrived more promptly—yet, since entering White Bridge, they hadn’t encountered anyone from the Fox family or any of their agents.

This was probably due to the family’s sense of territoriality. Although the Fox’s intelligence network was reputed to be omnipresent, they still ostensibly left a vacuum in White Bridge to maintain balance.

The last piece of news they had from Mokwen was that Lestrop had been seriously injured, affecting the army’s morale and leading to several retreats. Defeat seemed only a matter of time.

The more dire the situation, the more crucial Priscilla’s safety became. Dwight was still troubled by Kurt’s prophecy and saw this as an opportunity to meet with him and ask if his sister’s fate had diverged from the path he wished for her.

Yes, it had diverged.

That’s what Kurt had told him during their first meeting.

“Prophecy is not omnipotent, nor is it guaranteed to be fulfilled one hundred percent. The future, before it truly arrives, always has countless possible faces. Astrologers simply calculate and extract the most likely outcome,” the slender young man said. “This is the most likely fate as of now, much like a carriage traveling on a set route. I can tell you its routine destination, but if something happens along the way—maybe someone stops it midway, or perhaps a small stone gets lodged in the axle—in any case, the path will deviate because of this.”

Thus, Dwight rejected all the prudent advice around him and set off immediately. It turned out he was right. If he had followed normal procedures to request communication with Mokwen, his letter would have taken at least half a year to reach Priscilla, and by the time he waited for a reply and responded, it would have been too late.

Charlie’s target was also Kurt. If he could meet the astrologer first under the pretense of the Countess wanting to trade early, through Louis’s connection, he might at least learn what had happened to the normally reclusive Kurt. With the person himself cooperating, whatever means Charlie intended to use to extricate his friend would likely have a higher chance of success.

White Bridge was a place that ignored status and only recognized money. The Wolf and Monkey took client privacy very seriously, so those truly entering White Bridge often found their worldviews shattered by their play methods, and the involved parties naturally didn’t boast about their licentiousness here. That these secrets had never been leaked by the Black Gold Families proved their confidentiality skills.

Thus, the arrangement for the siblings’ meeting this time became much easier.

Brandenburg had been without a Lady for a long time. Both Dwight and Priscilla were still children when their mother passed away. The Duke of Brandenburg actually had little experience with adult women, so he was quite startled when he saw his sister’s significantly large belly.

The inadvertent awe on the brother’s face made Priscilla laugh. She didn’t rise but remained reclining on the chaise lounge, propped by several cushions, and gestured for him to come over.

Erica and Shivers both left the room, giving them privacy to talk.

Dwight was unusually at a loss for words. He had many questions, such as: Do all pregnant women have bellies this large? Or does it appear especially large because Priscilla is slim? Could there be twins inside such a large belly, or perhaps more? How many babies can a human have at once? It looks very dangerous…

But he was unsure if these questions were just common knowledge in the realm of childbirth. Even though the other party was his sister, he couldn’t just ask them outright. Embarrassment was secondary. The last thing he wanted was to cause Priscilla any panic.

Priscilla was in a good mood, though. Anyone whose body was heavy and burdened with various derived minor ailments and who could only lie down all day would be happy to have a relative come to keep them company.

Plus, she already knew of Lestrop’s inevitable defeat, which had been a heavy burden on her mind for a long time, now significantly relieved, making even her belly feel less heavy.

She didn’t rush to speak but took her brother’s hand and gently placed it on her stomach. Dwight’s fingertips were somewhat cold, and he remained motionless.

“He moves sometimes,” Priscilla said with a smile in her eyes. “Just wait and see.”

Actually, he had more serious matters to discuss with Priscilla, but he didn’t dare move his hand, and again wanted to ask silly questions like why babies move before they are born.

He didn’t want to be foolish, even if the other party was Priscilla.

“…Is it heavy?” Dwight finally asked.

“It’s heavy.” Priscilla blinked. Her limbs were swollen, but her face hadn’t distorted too severely, and her eyes were still bright. “Erica walks with me every day, but it’s getting harder.”

“Then just lie down,” Dwight said without hesitation.

Priscilla giggled and explained the importance of daily activity.

“There are three doctors arranged here.” Seeing her brother’s nervousness, Priscilla instead comforted him. “I brought one from Mokwen, and Ceylon added two more.”

“You mean Louis.” Dwight pursed his lips, a sign of his worsening mood.

Priscilla pretended not to notice. “Like you, he hasn’t experienced these things, so he’s a bit too nervous.”

“If he were nervous enough, you wouldn’t be pregnant,” Dwight said bluntly.

“My body is very uncomfortable. Please be a good uncle and don’t make me use my energy to coddle you right now,” Priscilla said.

Dwight: “……”

“Why don’t you tell him to be a good father?” he said. “Two doctors…”

“We’ve already separated.” Priscilla patted his hand. “And he’s already doing enough. You can be even more upset. I think what he’s doing is very romantic.”

---

The author has something to say:

Charlie and Louis have different paths, but both are very attractive to the opposite sex.

And the Duke is a rare example of a beautiful but ineffective male lead in Jinjiang.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 121

“So it turns out that besides two families, there are also other people from Paradise Island in the inner city, and the proportion isn’t low.”

Eugene hummed in agreement with his hands in his pockets. Most of the streetlights on this street were broken, and hardly a few worked. Idlers were everywhere, and some people were lying by the roadside, oblivious to whether they were drunk or asleep. If one didn’t approach and see their breathing, they would look no different from corpses.

In winter, it was common for people to freeze to death on the streets.

Shivers wore a dark gray wool coat, his brilliant blonde hair completely covered by a hood, only exposing his beautifully shaped chin. But in this area frequented only by the poor, even the wandering nightingales* wouldn’t come, and no one would care how two idle ruffians looked.

*Term used to refer to a prostitute.

“Most of them are young people. The old and children aren’t needed,” Eugene said. “There are two types of people who go out to work: one type does dirty and tiring jobs that don’t involve contact with outsiders, such as cleaning ditches or garbage or assisting in the kitchen outside in the dark, and guests like us hardly realize their existence. They return to Paradise Island after their work. The other type either doesn’t return, or their families receive a death notice—it’s considered very merciful if the body is sent back, and if they also get some money, that’s unimaginably good luck.”

Because of this, most natives considered their relatives who entered the inner city as already dead, since they would have to grieve for them sooner or later, and worrying constantly only added a burden to their already difficult lives.

So when Eugene first walked through the houses and saw people being returned in wooden boxes, apart from the mothers who lost their children, the rest of the people showed little sadness.

Such things happened too often but given the large population of the entire Paradise Island, these “wooden boxes” were like small stones thrown into a pond, quickly settling after a splash.

Shivers whispered, “You need to be careful. Prioritize safety above all.”

The auction was scheduled three days later and would last seven days. The first and last days were mainly various banquets and entertainment programs, where the atmosphere gradually whipped the guests into a frenzy, and extreme emotions such as brutality, excitement, hatred, ecstasy, resentment, and humiliation were infinitely amplified, primarily affecting a particular group of people.

Eugene nodded. He wasn’t completely ignorant of the ways of the world. On the contrary, his senses for danger and unease were quite sharp. As the auction drew near, the air in Paradise Island became more tense, and small-scale violent conflicts occasionally erupted.

Jason also mentioned that for most people working in the inner city, their fate often changed drastically after the auction, with very few hit by a “pie from the sky” and receiving rich rewards or even being taken away from White Bridge, but more often, they got burned in the madness and couldn’t escape.

“Paradise Island is different from other lower cities. It’s not conducive to hiding and escaping,” Eugene stated factually. “If you want to cause trouble, you might have to start elsewhere.”

Eugene had his own wisdom for survival. He lacked the knightly combat power, the complex experiences and skills of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, and the vision and decision-making power brought by a Duke’s status and wealth. Therefore, he always prioritized planning exits and safeguarding himself and his companions, a job he had always done very well.

Unlike any other lower cities he had seen, this place almost rejected no one, but it also didn’t really accept outsiders. Eugene could feel this contradiction—probably because from birth to death, the ties among the natives were much tighter than those in other towns.

……

Alexander sat behind a massive desk, buried almost entirely by various documents.

The auction was the Wolf’s hallmark event, the one that the family put the most effort into, and the corresponding workload could drive someone mad—especially since his boss had been pretending to be sick since fighting a witch at Fortuna Dock. Lately, outsiders could only see him at routine meetings, always looking pale and sickly, as if speaking a few more words might make it hard for him to breathe.

This was very rare. Louis’s style was almost entirely inherited from the White Wolf Fahim, always mild yet forceful, rarely bowing even before the head of the family, and only a fool would take their polite demeanor at face value.

The investigation into the witch incident wasn’t over yet, and Louis rarely showed his inability to cope to outsiders, whether or not they believed him, using this appearance to decline many social obligations and shifting the work to his poor assistant. As a result, Alexander hadn’t been home to sleep in three days, relying solely on increasingly strong doses of herbal tea for alertness.

“What is this?” he asked tiredly, staring at the object in his hand.

His assistant, wearing a twill coat, carefully said, “This is the Azman family’s hospitality plan. They’ve come up with a new idea, organizing several cruise ships to leave the shore for a wild party after the auction ends, extending the farewell banquet to three days.”

Leaving the shore for a wild party was clearly a loophole—both the Wolves and Monkeys relied on shipping routes for their livelihood, but their bases were on land. Over time, rules in the water and on shore differed, allowing some activities that weren’t permitted within White Bridge limits once on board, but these were often not good things.

The Azman family was adept at organizing these events. Their head was one of the five elders, particularly skilled in entertainment. Most of the Wolf’s entertainment was from their hands, and Louis, responsible for security, often clashed with him because unleashing human nature almost equaled losing control. Often, extra work stemmed from the Azmans’ “novelties”.

Yet as peers, it was impossible to completely cut ties, and this time the Azman had also sent an invitation to Louis as a means to maintain superficial relations and as routine business.

But their usual ways were too wild. Louis didn’t like it… Alexander sped through the documents with a grim face, his expression changing unpredictably before finally tossing the plan into a basket labeled “Processed”.

“Next time, bring this kind of thing directly to me—don’t just put it in front of him,” Alexander added before the assistant left. “If anyone asks, say that Master’s health hasn’t recovered, and his schedule is uncertain.”

Louis wasn’t exploiting Alexander out of laziness. In fact, his workload hadn’t decreased much. He was still young and didn’t have many capable people under him.

Pretending to be sick hadn’t made Khalif pay him any less attention. Fortunately, Priscilla was trading with the Wolf family under the name of the Countess of Mokwen. Otherwise, Louis would have had to spend a lot of effort to find a few reliable doctors without attracting attention.

“Water Carnival Night,” he murmured, the gimmick written on the silver-embossed invitation, flicking the stiff card away with a snap of his fingers. Alexander watched it fall to the carpet without picking it up.

“They hope not to arrange too many people, ‘to let the guests loosen up’,” Alexander said in a businesslike tone, and sure enough, he saw Louis’s face fall, glad that he hadn’t brought in the detailed plan. If Louis had seen the absurd games written on it, he would definitely not be able to stop rolling his eyes at Azman the next time they met.

“As usual, if you’re not satisfied, go find the family head,” Louis said without hiding his disgusted expression. “For the guests to ‘loosen up’? I think they’re too loose, ready to rip open their ties and run naked in the forest, becoming true wild beasts… Has the budget been approved?”

“Berger’s side should have some cuts, but Azman is closely connected with ‘that side’, and I heard they’ve brought back some contraband from the sea.”

Alexander watched Louis’s expression go from “seeing a cockroach crawling on the desk” to “seeing a cockroach and a beetle holding a wedding ceremony.”

“…Warn Azman in my name. Don’t go too far,” Louis said after a long while. “There are more death reports from Paradise Island than in previous years. He should show some restraint. The family head’s indulgence isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card, and Paradise Island isn’t his rabbit breeding farm.”

Alexander remained silent.

Louis was the main enforcer of order in White Bridge, and no one knew better than him that the compiled statistics of deaths on Paradise Island had reached an ignorable level, a large part of which weren’t natural deaths.

But besides him, it seemed no one else really faced this issue. For a long time, Louis’s insistence on providing relief for verifiable deaths had become a joke among other executives, who thought such excess mercy was nothing but a waste of funds.

Perhaps it was because of his childhood experiences in Fortuna City that Louis thought differently. He had a brother who liked to mingle in the streets. Every time he sneaked out and got caught, he would end up getting punished along with him, having to copy texts. To appease him (or perhaps because Charlie naturally liked to share), he would tell him all his experiences in great detail.

Dockworkers had virtually no rights to formal education, but that didn’t mean they were as stupid as monkeys. On the contrary, Charlie thought that the poor, who racked their brains every day to survive, were smarter than the well-fed upper class living off their ancestors.

They were actually very united. Knowing the weakness of individual strength, they would automatically band together to form brotherhoods. The most respected among them would be elected as the leader, representing the dockworkers in fighting for various rights—if a single laborer’s demand was a joke, then the joint demands of hundreds or thousands were a negotiation. They would calculate costs precisely, set conditions just right, and most of the time, they would succeed.

After witnessing a major negotiation, Charlie had secretly told him he thought the brotherhood was still too conservative.

“They only asked to eliminate unfair deductions and for basic working hours, and even that took many days of negotiation.” Young Charlie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “They didn’t even ask for a raise—I think they could have gotten it.”

“Merchant ships and the port have signed agreements, and if things escalate, the security team will join in the suppression,” young Louis said. “They don’t have weapons. There will be bloodshed.”

“A few people will bleed,” young Charlie corrected him. “You didn’t see the scene. There were so many people. The streets of the dock were full. The security team was less than one-twentieth their number. Swords are limited, but weapons are everywhere—boxes, picks, and pitchforks can all be used in combat. The docks would be taken over by the brotherhood. If someone told them—”

“And then what? The merchant ships stop coming in, and they lose their jobs.” Young Louis was tired and just wanted him to shut up.

Charlie did shut up, but Louis knew his brother was still pondering—yet who would listen to a child’s opinion? The brotherhood’s negotiation had ended, and tomorrow everything would return to normal.

And now, years later, Louis thought Charlie was right.

If someone had told them.

---

The author has something to say:

The shopkeeper has always been clever since he was a child.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 120

“You really won’t rent my room?” Popo was reluctant to give up, but Eugene could already see the inn from last night—in the deep of the night, with no moon in the sky, all he could remember of that building was a door lit by a light and the word “Inn” painted in green above it.

Now, in the daylight, he could see that it was indeed a makeshift structure. The person who built this house seemed to care little for safety or aesthetics; they just kept adding wherever possible, resulting in an increasingly tall and oddly shaped building. Upon close inspection, one would wonder how the rickety base layer managed to not collapse yet.

It was probably thanks to the neighboring houses that these cramped structures almost served the function of beams and columns, holding the inn tightly in place and leaving no room for it to fall.

“It’s closer to the main road,” Eugene muttered, with a somewhat reluctant air.

Popo understood. “You still want to go back to the inner city.”

He seemed to have pegged Eugene as someone who had come to White Bridge to enjoy life, a guy who had unfortunately squandered all his assets and ended up on Paradise Island out of necessity. Truthfully, there were many such people on Paradise Island.

The pattern was almost the same. At first, they all looked down on the dirt and disarray here, still wanting to use their last bit of money to retain some dignity and respect, believing their downfall was just a temporary slip. They thought that once they saved enough to turn things around, they could return to that dazzling world, with Paradise Island being nothing but a brief nightmare.

But there usually were only two outcomes: one was that they indeed left and never came back, which usually meant they died; the second was that their expenses outpaced their income, gradually moving from staying in an inn eating oatmeal to eating black bread, spending less money to rent a small space just to stay dry on the floor of a native’s home, and finally giving up everything, lying next to a stinking ditch waiting for either a miracle or death to find them.

Some could indeed settle down here and become part of Paradise Island, but they would end up like Popo, having a dirty and smelly place to stay and barely making ends meet from meal to meal.

He was convinced that Eugene would eventually experience the second phase of sharing accommodation with the natives, only hoping that by then his money hadn’t run out, so he could still make a bit more. After all, his house was indeed far from the main road, and few newcomers could navigate their way there. This place was full of people wanting to squeeze the newcomers dry, and he couldn’t spend all day waiting at the inn door for Eugene to have no other choice.

Besides, Eugene was quite generous, giving two copper coins just for being shown the way.

So he took the initiative to offer to help Eugene find a job, and if it worked out, he would take Eugene’s first three days’ wages. If not, he would only charge five copper coins.

This was exactly what Eugene was waiting for.

He knew Popo seemed young and cheerful, but he was actually very cautious. His words were half true, half false, and the warmth he showed was just treating him like a cash cow.

But that was alright.

As the shopkeeper once said: A transaction with a clear price is more trustworthy than insincere favors. If a stranger shows no clear interest in you but is overly enthusiastic, then you need to worry about the real cost he might expect, which you probably can’t afford.

“There are many job opportunities on Paradise Island—why the face? It’s true. I dare say people here work much longer hours than those in the inner city. The largest bakeries and laundries are all here, on the other side. There are also jobs cleaning the sewers in the inner city that are always hiring,” Popo said. “You’re very lucky to have met me. The jobs at Jason’s might pay a bit less, but they’re safe.”

Jason was considered a guild leader, one of the few who could directly deal with people from the “inner city”. Known for his generous and loyal personality, he was elected leader ten years ago and had since fought for many rights for the natives.

Many cities had similar labor organizations where leaders usually had high prestige and were indeed relatively trustworthy.

Popo took money to arrange things, agreeing to connect Eugene with Jason.

While waiting for Popo’s response, Eugene didn’t idle around. He tried to map out the general shape of Paradise Island by walking, only to find that the area was almost a huge maze. Every day, shacks collapsed, and every day new “houses” were built. A path he had passed just the day before could be blocked today by a row of barrels planted with tomatoes.

Even those born and raised here could hardly draw an accurate map. They could only distinguish general directions by memory and keep walking—the more detours there were, the more important it was to keep the direction correct to reach the destination.

Eugene thought it would take at least a week before he might meet Jason, but three days later, Popo came looking for him.

This outgoing young man seemed quite envious of the owner of the “inn” where Eugene stayed. To him, this ancestral property was like a hen that laid golden eggs, simply sitting and waiting each day for guests to pay—so easy and wealthy!

There were classes even within Paradise Island, and the owner, resembling an old elephant, clearly belonged to the upper class.

In terms of status, Jason also belonged to the upper class but was much poorer. When Eugene met him, this burly man was squatting on the ground, trying to repair a badly cracked wooden barrel. His short coat was so tattered that his distinctly defined muscles under the frayed fabric looked comically out of place.

“What’s your name?” Jason asked without looking up, gauging with a bent nail on the wood.

“Eugene.” Following his instinct, Eugene decided to tell the truth—despite his disheveled appearance, this man’s demeanor wasn’t on the same level as Popo’s, and a clumsy deception might backfire.

“Popo said you can read.” Jason hammered down. The board didn’t break, but the nail was smashed into a lump.

Eugene: “……”

Could he really read? He had only learned some common words in his spare time with the shopkeeper and Shiloh, knew fewer words than Amber, and couldn’t read newspapers independently.

He felt rather guilty.

Seeing him silent, Jason looked up. He was only about thirty years old, with a high nose and deep-set eyes, rough skin, and a bright gaze.

“I know some common words,” Eugene said. “But I’m not good with numbers. If it’s about bookkeeping—”

“It’s not for bookkeeping,” Jason said. “We need a teacher.”

“Oh, for children?” Eugene understood, gaining confidence. “Simple numbers and words are no problem!”

Jason gave him a strange look. “Paradise Island wouldn’t let someone whose background is unknown teach children. Your students will be me and other brothers.”

He offered a surprisingly high price. Popo was very envious, but when Jason said Popo could also join the classes, he quickly slipped away.

Jason, rough in appearance, was actually very meticulous and requested that Eugene give him a free trial lesson before deciding on the deal.

Eugene thought for a moment, then sat down cross-legged on the ground beside him, casually picking up a stick and writing the numbers one to ten on the ground.

The muscular man watched the characters intently for a while before nodding.

“It seems you’re not a swindler,” he said.

Jason was somewhat of a foreman, usually responsible for gathering labor when the inner city needed a large workforce.

“Ship hulls and cargo crates are marked with numbers. I’ve taught myself a bit,” Jason explained. “But I don’t know if it’s correct.”

“Why not ask someone?” Eugene wondered. “To verify it with someone.”

“Because poor people aren’t entitled to learn,” Jason said. “Especially people from Paradise Island.”

The coarse among them weren’t deemed worthy of literature, music, or history. This was the consensus of the two major families of White Bridge.

Perhaps because he had been with the Duke for so long, Eugene found this reasoning laughable.

He himself hadn’t even managed to claw his way into the circle of nobility yet, and here he was, putting on airs and looking down on the poor.

He didn’t know that to Jason, he seemed like a godsend. The Wolves and Monkeys not only completely monopolized White Bridge’s economic lifeline but also controlled the educational avenues out of Paradise Island. Those qualified to teach were neither allowed nor would they willingly step into Paradise Island. Although there wasn’t an explicit ban on the residents of Paradise Island learning to read, if there was no one to teach, who could naturally possess the ability to read and write?

Only someone like Eugene, an outsider who had fallen into Paradise Island and happened to know some letters, could give these residents a glimpse of a minuscule spark of civilization.

This was why, even though most residents were illiterate, one still saw signs like “Inn” or “Cold Food” everywhere. Many may not speak the common language, but they could clumsily spell out their names.

The transmission had never been complete, but it had also never been truly broken.

Admittedly, on any continent, those who received an education were usually from a relatively better-off group, but even during his illiterate thief days, Eugene never thought literacy was useful. He remembered common numbers and words partly because of rabbit-headed shopkeeper enticements and partly because Amber’s studiousness spurred him on through a catfish effect.

Even when he began to be able to stutter through reading, he didn’t do anything productive with it. Instead, he spent quite a bit of money buying erotica from alley vendors. The shopkeeper and the Duke seemed to only expect him to keep making progress, not to achieve any scholarly feats.

So when Jason openly showed respect and desire for his literacy, the usually nonchalant Eugene felt unusually embarrassed.

“If you want to learn, I’ll teach you.” Eugene wrote down “Paradise Island” on the ground. “No need to call me teacher.”

Even with thick skin, he felt too embarrassed to accept that title—he had never even called the rabbit-headed shopkeeper or Shiloh that.

“You don’t understand,” Jason also sat down cross-legged on the ground with a calm expression. “What does this mean for us? We have hands, legs, and brains, but in front of the higher-ups, we might as well be monkeys because even if the schemes are laid out in front of us, we can’t see them. The dilapidated Paradise Island was built by us, the exquisite inner city as well, from our hands. Many people get cheated, and can only come to me, but I am far more powerless than they think.”

“Popo says you’re the most reliable person,” Eugene said instinctively.

“That’s because everyone needs someone like me to not seem too—” Jason suddenly stopped talking.

Eugene understood. “You mean like ‘them’. Popo told me.”

Jason frowned deeply, seemingly annoyed at Popo’s lack of discretion, but then he relaxed, remembering Eugene was a “teacher”.

“In their eyes, we are just insignificant ants, easy to crush and dispose of,” Jason said. “We don’t talk about this.”

No matter how Eugene tried to get more information, Jason no longer disclosed anything, but the opposition between Paradise Island and the inner city was undeniable.

Jason hadn’t fully trusted Eugene, partly out of caution and partly because those in a disadvantaged position didn’t often recount their tragic histories.

But he didn’t believe Eugene was a spy sent by the Wolves or Monkeys either, simply because, in the eyes of the inner city, such an act was unnecessary.

They controlled wealth and armed forces. If it weren’t for the need to rely on a large amount of cheap labor to keep the city running, the two families would probably be happy to push the entire Paradise Island into the river and build another city that never slept in its place.

Jason knew that Popo and many other young people somewhat idolized him, thinking he was the most courageous and competent person, so he wasn’t used to revealing his vulnerabilities to anyone.

Jason didn’t let Eugene work for free for too long. Although eager to learn, after recording three phrases, Jason ended the trial lesson, agreed on a price that satisfied both parties, and set the next evening for the official start of lessons—before then, he wanted to gather all his brothers who wanted to learn to read and write like him.

Only when the moon was high in the sky did Jason finish notifying a few core members of the brotherhood. By this time, except for some workshops that operated day and night, most of Paradise Island had fallen into deep sleep.

Not wanting to navigate the overly narrow paths in the dark, Jason, a large man prone to bumping into carelessly placed obstacles, purposely took a long detour along the riverbank.

There was no rain tonight, and the moon was bright. Jason watched his reflection in the water and started slowing down his steps.

He remembered Al being sent back.

Al was a guy younger than Popo, tall, and because of his good looks, was selected to be trained as a servant lighting cigarettes for guests in the inner city.

Then today, that tall young man was brought back in a wooden crate, not even personally by the Monkeys but by two hired men who brought the crate in, along with a bag of coins.

Jason went to console Al’s mother, but no one saw how frantic he was.

Because his brother, like Al, was taken away for his fair and handsome appearance.

He hadn’t come back yet.

Jason hoped for his return but also feared it. As the leader of the brotherhood, he couldn’t show his anxiety in front of others, but under the moon’s gaze, Jason involuntarily stopped walking.

“Don’t worry, brother,” his brother had said before leaving. “I’ll try my best. I’m just going to the inner city. It’s so close… When you see the moon getting rounder, I can see it too.”

Jason looked at the moon’s reflection and took a deep breath.

He didn’t believe in prayers because Paradise Island had never been blessed.

But if there truly was a god out there who could hear wishes, could He please give him a sign to let him know his brother was alright?

Just as he stared at the water, the normally still reflection of the moon suddenly trembled.

Jason’s body reacted faster than his brain, and he immediately stepped back, distancing himself from the water.

The river surface bizarrely formed a whirlpool, as if an invisible large fish was turning beneath the surface—but the water here was too shallow for any large fish.

As he stared at the water, considering whether to shout for help, he heard a “splash” as a shadow broke through the water.

The moon’s reflection shattered into many pieces.

---

The author has something to say:

Jason: God, please give me a sign.

Sign: Who’s so inconsiderate to order takeout in the middle of the night?

Does anyone remember Kurt’s side job writing erotica?

It doesn’t sell well, but there are buyers, like Eugene, with his unusual tastes.

---

Kinky Thoughts:

Guess his sign is Rabbit.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 119

“Some guy told me this place has the cheapest rooms in White Bridge,” Eugene said, leaning against a wooden counter polished shiny from use, speaking in the common language.

Behind the counter, which was half a person tall, there was a space just big enough to squeeze in a single chair, on which sat a skinny old man with his knees drawn up. If the visitor wasn’t tall enough, they would have to stand on tiptoes to see that there was someone there.

The chair under the old man was so worn that its original shape was indiscernible, covered with many layers of hand-sewn fabric pads, deeply sunken in the middle from use. The wall beside him was covered in haphazard scribbles, looking like a mix of names and numbers.

The old man’s eyelids were thick and heavy, and he laboriously lifted them to look at Eugene, his movement reminiscent of an elephant nearing its last days.

“10 copper coins.” He also spoke in the common language. “Rent is paid daily. If you don’t come back, whatever you leave in the room is mine.”

Eugene paid him, and after the old man counted the money twice, he got up with a jangle—caused by a large iron ring on his left wrist, from which hung various keys that clinked against each other with his movements.

Eugene guessed this building was probably constructed by his grandfather’s grandfather. The building looked much older than the old man, who was coughing with every step. Its quirky and tightly packed structure was the result of haphazard expansions over generations. Every step of the stairs and every door he saw had different colors and materials. It wasn’t fully light yet, but there were already sounds of coughing and movement behind several doors.

The old man didn’t bring a candle. He led Eugene up two flights of stairs in the dark, trying several keys before finally opening a door at the stairwell landing and gesturing for him to go inside.

The room was small and square, cramped like a drawer. The floor was covered with a grass mat whose original color was indiscernible, and there was a lump of something rolled up in old cloth—Eugene guessed it was a pillow.

A wooden board was nailed to the wall, neatly holding a wooden plaque carved with a hieroglyph.

It was a blessing charm.

The skinny old man gave him a key and left. The room had no furniture worth mentioning, and as soon as the door shut, it was plunged into darkness.

Gathering intelligence from the lower echelons was Eugene’s forte, but sitting cross-legged in the room, he felt that this place was different from the other low places he had “mingled” in before.

When he had followed a few kitchen workers here, he had prepared himself—if this area, clearly meant for the poor, was too hostile to outsiders, he would immediately withdraw, find an opportunity to bribe a couple of local loners to become informants, and then sneak back in.

But the walk in had been unexpectedly smooth.

It wasn’t because it was before dawn, and no one was out. This area was completely open. There was no manned boundary, not even a real “gate”. As long as one could find a gap between the shacks, entry was possible without any obstruction.

Inside, there was everything—one could find in any city, including stalls selling simple food all night, narrow but interconnected streets, and even a proper inn.

This inn was located not far from the main road Eugene had entered on. In the darkness, the full view of the small building was unclear, but amid mostly closed doors and windows, the light leaking from the only door big enough for one person to pass through shone like a beacon through the sea, instinctively drawing him toward it, and Eugene indeed headed there.

Inside, there was only the counter and a dozing old man. If it weren’t for the words “Inn” written on the old wooden door, Eugene wouldn’t have knocked on the counter to wake him.

No identification was required, and rent was paid daily. Eugene would bet that even if a wanted poster with his portrait was hanging on that door, as long as he could pay the rent, the old man would hand him the keys.

Although the objective conditions were vastly different, this money-centric attitude indeed proved that this place was also a part of White Bridge.

……

“%&*%￥?” a woman wrapped in a headscarf said something to him.

Eugene didn’t understand, so he continued walking past her deeper into the area. A man laughed behind him, speaking in the common language but with a heavy accent. Eugene vaguely guessed that one of the short sentences meant “In broad daylight!”

He had exchanged his waterproof cloak for another in the laundry room, but after dawn, he left it in his room—looking out the window, he saw that the locals mostly dressed very casually, exposing a lot of skin, most of which was deeply tanned, revealing uneven teeth when they spoke.

There were no drainage ditches here, and the narrow walkways were often half-occupied by sewage. Eugene spent half the day wandering deeper into this vast labyrinth, turning back for the hundredth time after dead ends and haphazard obstructions blocked his way, eventually losing track of his route back.

A few boys, wearing only trousers, shouted as they ran past him. Eugene casually grabbed one, asking in the common language where he could buy water.

“I’ll pay,” he said.

It wasn’t clear if the boy understood. Like a fish out of water, he thrashed in Eugene’s grasp, then ran off quickly, nose dripping, after being set down.

But no matter. Eugene didn’t really expect the boy to solve his problem. He said it for the ears of those nearby—although it seemed like no one was around, he knew that all along his journey, many eyes had been watching him.

“Hey.” Indeed, immediately, a young-looking man struck up a conversation. “You want to buy water?”

He spoke clearly, with no accent, and was dressed more cleanly and decently than the dishwashers working the previous night.

Eugene nodded.

“I’ll sell it to you,” the man said. “You’re a foreigner, right—lost your way?”

Without waiting for a response but not seeming to mind, he introduced himself as Popo, living nearby, and claimed he had clean water to offer him.

Eugene followed him through several turns, stopping in front of a shelter no taller than a person. If it weren’t made of thin wood planks and other materials, Eugene would rather call it a tent.

But Popo said this was his home, deftly lifting the curtain that served as the door and ducking inside.

As Eugene waited, he noticed a few inconspicuous daisy wreaths painted on the lower right corner of the door curtain.

When Popo reemerged, he held a dry gourd half-filled with water.

Eugene was starving by then, but as he reached out, Popo pulled back with a sly look in his eyes.

“You see, my water costs money too,” he said. “Not much left.”

“How much?” Eugene asked straightforwardly.

Popo hesitated for a moment, then tentatively said, “Two copper coins.”

Eugene looked at the water in the gourd, which wasn’t very clear, and the gourd itself was chipped.

“Fine, two copper coins,” Eugene agreed.

Before Popo could smile, Eugene added, “Not water. Two copper coins for you to show me the way.”

To his surprise, Popo seemed even happier. He carefully went back to put down the water, as if afraid Eugene would run off, then quickly came out again. “No problem—I grew up on Paradise Island. No one knows the paths better than I do. Who are you looking for?”

Paradise Island.

Eugene mentally noted the name.

“I’m looking for work,” Eugene said. “First day here—rented a room. Don’t know the way back.”

Popo nodded, unconcerned, stepping barefoot into the sewage and moved in front of him. “Where’s your room rented?”

“The place has no name,” Eugene said.

“The places here have no names,” Popo replied. “You need to know who the owner is. Like Jenny’s laundry factory, Old Whitebeard’s bakery…”

“It says ‘Inn’ on the door,” Eugene added.

“Ah, I know.” Popo walked backwards, looking at Eugene. “It’s not cheap there. You can stay at my place for just 5 copper coins a day.”

Eugene remained silent, but Popo clearly didn’t want to let him go, actively persuading him as they walked. “You came looking for work, right? Do you still have savings? The cheapest room there costs 10 copper coins—that’s 300 a month. Even if you find work immediately, what you earn in a day will just cover your rent. You won’t be able to afford food…”

“Is the pay really that low?” Eugene frowned.

Popo burst into laughter.

“What else? This is Paradise Island. You’re not from the inner city, are you? If you were, it wouldn’t be surprising—the rats there are richer than us. There’s no comparison.”

His matter-of-fact tone suggested that this place called “Paradise Island” wasn’t completely isolated from the inner city, and there was some movement of people between the two.

Although the inner city was bustling and lively, everything there was built on money. If someone went bankrupt at an auction or a solo dining event, they could become a beggar overnight and only manage to survive by entering Paradise Island.

Conversely, the likelihood of moving from Paradise Island to the inner city seemed much slimmer. Most children growing up here would end up like Popo or working as kitchen hands, washing dishes overnight…

Just as Eugene was about to ask him about the possibility of getting work in the inner city, Popo suddenly stopped walking and even stepped back a couple of steps, nearly bumping into Eugene.

Eugene looked over his shoulder and saw several people gathered in the distance talking. A middle-aged, fat woman was sitting on the ground crying in front of a large wooden crate.

“Let’s take a detour,” Popo said expressionlessly.

Eugene shrugged and followed him quickly, asking quietly, “What happened there?”

“Someone died,” Popo said. “See that crate… Her child is inside.”

Eugene looked at the back of Popo’s head, suddenly having a thought. “Sent over from the inner city?”

Popo kept walking. “Yeah. ‘They’ occasionally pick people from here. Children who leave here either never come back, or they end up in a box. If their family is still around, they get some money for it.”

“‘They’—are you talking about the Wolves or the Mon…” Eugene didn’t finish his sentence when Popo angrily cut him off.

“Don’t—mention their names.” The young man squeezed the words through clenched teeth. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“Why? Can they hear us?” Eugene quickly amended his approach.

“‘They’ are everywhere.” Popo looked around, seemingly checking if anyone was paying attention to them. Probably because he was leading the way, indeed, not many people spared extra energy to notice Eugene.

“Don’t talk about it, don’t draw attention, don’t resist,” Popo said. “If you want to stay here, you’d better do as I say.”

Eugene was stunned.

Except for the last part, the rules Popo just mentioned were applicable across the continent, but conventionally, they were meant to guard against witches and black mages.

Here, however…

It seemed he had found the reason why on Paradise Island, both inn rooms and simple tents, without exception, had blessing charms.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 118

Amber’s eyes widened as he looked at the two neatly dressed attendants bowing to greet them, with a bright green lawn behind them—not large but meticulously trimmed and vividly colored, which made the somewhat gloomy sky appear gray.

In the middle was a neat pathway wide enough for a double carriage, leading to a compact but fully functional summer villa.

Every five steps along the outer circular colonnade stood a slender column, carved with intricate rose vine patterns similar to those on the main door, topped with a gas lamp that was lit even though it was still afternoon (Eugene suspected these lamps were on day and night).

Although there were no marble pools or fountains, there was a delicate tower and a back garden, making it seem like the most complete and comfortable place they had come across after their journey.

This was just one of the guest houses in the inner city of White Bridge, featuring six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, adorned with finely sculpted relief columns and gilded furniture inlaid with gems. However, there were no emblems or tapestries that could indicate status, making it seem like an opulently empty jewelry box.

Each house was staffed with a cook, laundress, gardener, coachman, and four general laborers, while the security mercenaries were housed in a separate wooden cabin next to the storage room, behind which stood a pointed-roof stable filled with hay reaching the roof.

This was the first time both Amber and Eugene had seen such a refined house, and they felt somewhat uneasy about stepping forward. Nearly the entire reception hall was covered with a huge carpet, brown with blue borders, featuring patterns with an exotic flair. Having traveled through many cities with the Duke, Eugene could guess that such a large handmade carpet must be quite valuable, and his sheepskin boots were no longer as pristine as they had been at the start of their journey—they still bore the marks of accidentally stepping into a muddy puddle at the foot of the Royfoy Mountains.

Hasting and Shivers had different concerns. They quickly inspected the house from top to bottom, opening every cupboard and paying particular attention to all the exits of the house.

The Duke stood by a large stained-glass window overlooking the back garden, frowning slightly at the spotless glass.

After descending the stairs, Shivers saw where he was standing and immediately understood that he had also noticed something of concern.

“Indeed, there are no blessing charms,” the Knight Commander said. “We’ve checked the doors, window frames, stairs, eaves, and vents, and found nothing.”

Amber stood at the edge of the carpet. Hearing their conversation, he raised his head and asked Eugene, “What’s a blessing charm? Like an amulet?”

Eugene replied, surprised, “How do you not know that—it’s a charm used to prevent witches or evil spirits from entering a house. Even the simplest houses are equipped with them. As the saying goes: even a broken house should have a stove and a daisy wreath.”

Amber remained silent.

He had been sold before he was five years old and retained little memory of “home”. Since then, he had been passed from hand to hand, never sleeping in a decent bed, let alone a proper house.

Hearing their conversation, Shivers waved Amber over.

“Blessing charms are a customary practice across the continent. It’s not specific in form, but any that can repel evil and protect against malevolent spirits. Long ago, when black magic was rampant and the fresh bones from graveyards and swamps weren’t enough to satisfy their needs, people would compel extremely evil things to squeeze into houses through door cracks or window gaps; thus, various protective measures were developed. The daisy wreath Eugene mentioned is a common one. It’s inexpensive and just requires a daisy wreath carved into a brick on each of the four walls during construction to confuse evil beings.”

He added softly, “There are also wooden exorcism charms hung behind doors and silver-coated glass pieces embedded in the windows. The methods vary, but it’s customary to have some, and houses completely without these protections are rare.”

Eugene dipped his finger in water and drew several circles within circles on the wall to show him, “See, this is a daisy wreath. When I was in Dogus, I often slept in animal sheds, and if the homeowner didn’t place a blessing charm, we would draw this with the ashes on the walls—do you need me to draw one outside? It’s simple, just give me five minutes…”

Shivers shook his head. “I’ve sent Hall and Shiloh to check if the nearby houses are the same, but actually, the comforting effect of blessing charms is greater than their actual function. Now, witches and black magic are strictly prohibited, especially in populous cities, and evil spirits hardly dare to show themselves.”

And they had Hasting, a walking humanoid blessing charm stronger than any other.

“Interesting,” Dwight muttered quietly, taking his cane and heading upstairs, followed by Shivers.

Their luggage had already been placed in the bedrooms, with the Duke naturally occupying the largest one. As guests concealing their real identities, they maintained a low profile after entering White Bridge and didn’t rent the best house, thus receiving little special treatment, but the conditions here were still surprisingly good.

“These families… at least the Wolves and Monkeys, indeed have substantial wealth,” Shivers remarked, looking at the fur on the bed.

Due to its fragmented kingdom, Doran lacked strict consumer laws, allowing wealthy commoners considerable freedom. The soft, white rabbit fur on the bed was a testament to high-quality goods, usually stored with spices in the innermost cargo holds of ships and sold at high prices.

In Pennigra, only those of knight rank and above could wear silk, and only barons and above could wear fur coats or trimmed robes.

“They do just that,” Dwight said. “For the biennial auction, countless ships carrying honey, beverages, spices, and silk converge here. The Golden Waterway is well-deserved.”

“In such a place, without strong measures, it’s easy for theft, robbery, and conflicts to arise,” Shivers analyzed. “But so far, the environment seems peaceful, and even the houses don’t set up blessing charms. What gives the Wolves such confidence?”

“Personnel stratification,” Dwight responded without hesitation. “Here, there are no nobles, only coins. They classify by wealth.”

Upon entering White Bridge, they had rented a villa in a section that likely housed guests of similar stature. If someone as wealthy as Priscilla were to visit, she would probably stay somewhere even more upscale, but likely just like this place, devoid of any emblems or ornaments to display one’s status.

“But there is no pure utopia of pleasure. There must be another part of the city, a breeding ground for theft and robbery… concentrated there.” Dwight speculated, lowering his eyes. “As long as the boundaries are clear, major conflicts won’t occur, and individual conflicts on ‘this side’ are manageable.”

“We haven’t seen such a place,” Shivers said.

They had been met by carriages upon disembarking, but due to not having female companions, chose a brighter, airier, windowless model. The scenery they saw along the way looked like a compact royal city, vibrant and ripe like a juicy, enticing peach, emitting a rotting, sweet smell.

“There’s more than one entrance,” Dwight said thoughtfully.

For the Wolves and Monkeys to demarcate and govern here appeared quite incredible and contradictory to Dwight. It was strange to see two equally powerful forces coexist peacefully within the same area.

Either they had leverage over each other, or this balance existed only superficially, being quite delicate in reality.

Unfortunately, just as nobles collectively refuse to intermarry with the Black Gold Families, the Black Gold Families are also tightly knit, making it difficult for outsiders to penetrate easily.

Even in Pennigra, Lemena was a relatively independent peninsula and had no contact with White Bridge beyond commercial activities before this, leaving him with a very limited understanding of the area.

But there were potential breakthroughs, such as Louis.

However, Dwight still didn’t know his actual stance, and considering his and Charlie’s sensitive identities, coupled with Priscilla’s impending childbirth, the Duke pondered for a moment and decided to switch perspectives.

In such a prosperous and orderly inner city, the Wolves and Monkeys likely dominated as local powers, controlling key resources.

The commoners or those of lower status probably concentrated in inferior districts or suburbs. Both families might manage those areas, but they wouldn’t be a major part of that population.

……

Eugene walked down the street, shoulders hunched, as drizzle fell from the sky. Despite wearing a waterproof cloak, the fine raindrops were blown slantwise onto his face by the wind, soon forming tiny beads of water on his eyebrows and hair.

White Bridge was a city that never slept.

He had deliberately left home at eleven at night and spent an hour walking to the bustling commercial district’s edge. Although the air no longer carried the scents of ladies’ perfume and sweet cream, it was still enticing—replaced by the strong aromas of roasted meats. Half-open or open-air stalls were everywhere, with bright lights illuminating the area as if it were daytime. People built huge roasters right there, continuously removing stacks of pancakes filled with pork, beef, and eggs. Beside these were various grills, skewering beef legs and small lambs, constantly dripping fat and juices into bowls below, then used to make another famous dish—gravy onions.

Eugene stood at a street corner, like a customer lured by the aromas and indecisive about which shop to sit down in. The bustling or dining people took no special notice of him, as the scene was quite ordinary to them.

But he was actually observing something else.

For these bustling districts, the night was just beginning. Gourmets tired of the inner city’s center, close to various auction houses and exclusive restaurants, would come here to eat, often in groups, with two servants following behind. Occasionally, some courtesans would pass by, casting flirtatious glances at the seated diners.

Eugene bypassed these brightly lit shops, stepping through puddles deeper into the area. The layout of the streets here was similar, with shiny shops typically backed by messy drainage ditches. Old oil lamps hung on bamboo poles, and a few raggedly dressed women washed dishes under the lamps while two men squatted on the ground, their fronts lined with buckets filled with heaps of chili peppers and onions, quickly chopping tuberous plants into small pieces.

People came and went from the front, picking up peeled potatoes. Those squatting or sitting didn’t raise their heads or speak, treating each other as if they were air.

The lighting was too dim, but Eugene could just make out their dark faces and tattered robes. Sometimes, multi-legged insects scurried out from the shadows, even crawling over the corners of their robes that touched the ground, causing only a numb shift in their bodies, their hands never stopping their task.

The Duke was right. Behind such opulence in White Bridge was a backbone of cheap labor. Especially in that “outsider” villa area, massive daily demands were generated: laundry, exquisite food, tedious and cumbersome household chores, and routine house maintenance—all of which couldn’t be managed by just a few assigned servants.

This was particularly evident in the streets and shops, especially in the food industry, which generated a lot of tedious and dirty work…

Eugene was familiar with these scenes. Indeed, he had been a scoundrel since childhood, rarely as engrossed in work as these people. But Eugene, the thief, and his ragamuffin friends had parents and siblings who performed these low-wage jobs day in and day out, barely making enough to scrape by.

That’s why, unlike the loud drunks in the taverns, they were very cautious, unlikely to say more than a few words to a stranger like Eugene.

After some thought, Eugene didn’t approach rashly but walked away—he ended up ordering a roasted chicken, golden-brown, and drank wine until late into the night.

Only when it grew dark and the guests gradually left, as most shops began cleaning tables and chairs, did he tighten his sleeves, stagger to his feet, and tossed a handful of coins on the table before leaving.

A faint snicker followed him from behind. He knew he was seen as a penniless gambler, but he didn’t care.

Like all incoherently drunk people, he first staggered under a streetlamp, then shuffled forward. The streets were nearly empty, and he was almost relying on luck not to lose track of the two men he had seen peeling potatoes in the back alley earlier.

Luckily, they were either completely off guard or so sure of their poverty that they attracted no covetous attention, oblivious to someone following them through several blocks back to “home”.

Eugene stood in a shadow where the streetlight couldn’t reach, watching one of the men crawl directly into a tent propped up by a stick on the roadside, seemingly flipping over to lie down inside, his feet sticking out freely.

His companion walked around the tent and entered—what Eugene could only describe as…

A jumbled mass of shanties, tents, and wooden houses crowded together, a myriad of materials and colors with seemingly no gaps between the oddly shaped windows and corners that stood out more starkly against the night sky. From his distance, it looked like a colossal, multicolored mountain of garbage.

And the ragged vegetable cutter, like a nimble rat, slipped in without needing streetlights or moonlight, familiarly navigating the maze.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 117

After the Bonadi River turned a bend in the eastern part of the Doran continent, it merged into the sea. White Bridge was conveniently located at the bend. There was also a canal that ran through east to west, which most passenger and merchant ships entered through.

The impression of White Bridge entirely depends on which “gate” one entered through.

Alexander glanced out the window before drawing the curtains. Although the ship wasn’t moving fast, the vast expanse of gray, white was no longer visible in the distance—outsiders might mistake that white for calcified reefs or something else on the shore, but only those who live there knew that it was a large, dense area of low, sun-blocking rooftops.

Describing them as rooftops might not be entirely appropriate, as most of the structures were crooked shacks, built askew, and in disrepair. If by chance some stray dogs were to fight and bump into the rotten, damp wood used for support, it could easily cause the entire shack to collapse, crushing the starving elderly inside who lack the strength to even moan.

Then, after waiting a few days, someone would drag away the rubble along with the bodies, and another “family” would build a shack on the same spot, only to relive this history again in twenty years—or maybe ten.

“Didn’t you just go back? ‘Paradise Island’.” Louis, standing by his desk, carefully put on a glove, which was exquisitely made, but what was more surprising was the material—it was light, soft, thin, and extremely elastic. It took effort to fully stretch it to put on, and once on, it fitted like a second layer of skin, reducing any discomfort that could hinder movement to a minimum.

After checking the curtains, Alexander came over to help him and pursed his lips upon hearing this.

The continent’s impression of White Bridge was universally one of a debauched gold mine, a lawless den of sin, a magical country that fulfilled all fantasies. Oddly, those who had been to White Bridge unanimously ignored its other side: crowded, dirty, poor, suffering, and madness.

These terms also came from White Bridge, where countless poor people, like never-tiring ants, had accumulated a growing anthill in this place of extravagant spending, exactly where Alexander just looked.

This slum had an interesting name: Paradise Island.

It wasn’t actually an island, but a large, rundown, crowded shantytown that was an integral part of White Bridge, where all the garbage abandoned by the adjacent glitzy world and all beings unworthy of entering that world found their place. Its boundary was clear, without a wall to separate these two worlds, but this stark coexistence had existed almost since the formation of White Bridge.

The name Paradise Island was given by the first generation of residents, and to this day, one could still faintly sense their hopeful spirit placed here for the future, although over time it had become a focal point of disease, poverty, and hardship in White Bridge. Yet, the residents of Paradise Island still chose to call it by this name.

Alexander was from there.

“I just glanced from a distance.” Alexander straightened a finger of the glove, ensuring Louis’s fingertip completely reached the end. “Things change too quickly there. I no longer recognize the way in.”

And Paradise Island would not welcome someone like Alexander.

The islanders had an instinctual sense of smell, able to sharply discern the identity of every visitor. They may outwardly show respect and fear, but deep down, they emit a “this is an outsider” warning, even if Alexander was once one of them.

“Fahim told you,” Louis said nonchalantly, picking up the second glove.

As Louis’s assistant, Alexander rarely enjoyed any holidays. His few free moments came when Louis returned to Fortuna City, and Alexander usually left half a day to a day later due to wrapping up work, occasionally having a few hours to glance at Paradise Island.

The day Fahim took him away from White Bridge, he had stood at the crossroad and said, “Take one last look at your hometown. You can never come back.”

At that time, Alexander’s mind was no bigger than a peach pit. He didn’t understand what Fahim was saying, but he obediently looked back. His sweaty-smelling neighbors also watched him from afar, their eyes filled with reluctance. Alexander felt Fahim didn’t understand. His family and friends were all here. When he made something of himself, they would surely excitedly navigate the alleys, loudly share the news, and then celebrate together with the bread and ham he brought back—however, it turned out Fahim was right.

When he wore a decent shirt, cut his hair, and learned to use utensils and read, the blood flowing through him was continuously cleansed, and by the time he stood behind Louis, capable of calmly facing all threats, the last trace of Paradise Island within him had disappeared.

His gambling-addict father disappeared in the second year after he left, presumably thrown into the Bonadi River by creditors, and his mentally unstable mother couldn’t even remember how many children she had, let alone recognize Alexander—even now, even if he brought back the finest wines and meats, his hometown would no longer recognize and accept him.

“Yes.” Alexander straightened Louis’s collar. A cleverly hidden white gauze peeked through—one that he had worked tirelessly to wrap around his neck.

Showing weakness was rare in White Bridge, and Alexander wasn’t sure what Louis hoped to gain by pretending to be injured, but as a dutiful assistant, he didn’t question his boss’ decision.

They timed it well, almost completely ready when a servant came to report that the ship had arrived, and…

“Miss Prima is waiting for you at the port,” the servant said.

This wasn’t something an unmarried lady should do conspicuously. It seemed she was truly worried. Alexander thought this as he picked up Louis’s cane and hat, glancing at the meticulously combed back of his boss’ head, feeling his boss really wasn’t a good man.

This was roughly the difference between true nobility and a pack of wolves. Although the idea of defending one’s dignity with one’s life was rigid and decadent, this push was quite too high that Priscella would never do such a thing.

Prima knew that her actions could stir rumors and mockery, like being overly forward, but she was Khalif’s daughter—who would dare say that to her face?—as long as it didn’t reach her ears, she wouldn’t care about these trivial acts.

Louis wasn’t particularly perturbed by being pursued, nor did the news elicit any special reaction from him.

Once within the domain of White Bridge, there were plenty of eyes scrutinizing his every move. Prima was just one of the rare few whose intentions were benign.

He took the cane from Alexander and boarded the carriage, waiting at the dock without a sideways glance. Nearby, the Azalea, prepared for the Countess, had its convoy in place, but due to cumbersome luggage, only the attendants were coordinating all the details.

Prima’s carriage was white and painted with golden trim. Its exquisite rooftop and detailed decorations looked quite dreamy. However, from the dock onward, the sight was filled with luxurious, costly carriages, making the Wolf Family’s seem modest in comparison.

Prima didn’t alight from her carriage but instead waited for Louis to board so they could ride side by side. It seemed the lady hadn’t entirely forsaken her modesty until they reached Louis’s inner-city mansion, where she lightly stepped down from the carriage, her bright brown eyes unwaveringly fixed on him.

“Louis, Alexander told me you were injured.” She approached naturally, her tone filled with concern. “You look pale… Was it the witch?”

“Thank you for coming to meet me, Prima.” Louis nodded to her. “Let’s not stand here talking. Alexander, have the kitchen prepare cinnamon tea and mint candies. We’ll go to the living room.”

This was Prima’s preference, but she wasn’t here just for tea. Seeing Louis move freely brightened her spirits a bit, and her tone became more cheerful.

“Those annoying people wouldn’t tell me the truth, so I came to you, Louis. Is there really a witch? Did she hurt you?”

“Oh? What did they say?” Louis removed his hat and casually handed it to a maid nearby.

“Oh, there was a rumor that you had disappeared around seven,” Prima said lightly. “They said a witch attacked the docks, and you were there, taken away by the witch.”

She didn’t realize the implications of her words: Louis had vanished in the river just as the sun set, and within an hour, White Bridge, three days and two nights from Fortuna City, had received news that couldn’t be said to be entirely inaccurate. Obviously, this didn’t come from Louis’s side, indicating someone had been closely monitoring him.

Prima was aware of this, but such surveillance was normal for the Wolf and even the Monkey families. Those in power always attracted covetous eyes waiting to take their place, and even a lady like her was constantly watched. She had just heard the news and wasn’t one of the watchers. Even if Louis resented this customary situation, his anger and resentment wouldn’t extend to her.

Louis didn’t react much to her words, instead calmly describing the incident with Elena, of course, in the version that made Alexander roll his eyes.

Prima, well-protected by her father, was easily fascinated by such thrilling stories. When Louis mentioned that the witch was dead, she sighed with relief and gracefully stated she was just checking on him and shouldn’t stay long to not disturb his rest after the journey.

Louis didn’t detain her and turned to Alexander to escort her to her carriage.

Though anticipated, Prima was still dismayed by Louis’s overly polite reception. If not for Alexander at her side, she might have turned immediately to ask Mary, the maid next to her, if she noticed her new hairstyle and the perfectly matching dress.

Alexander escorted her to the front courtyard, softly complimenting, “You look very beautiful today, Miss Prima.”

“Really?” Prima’s eyes lit up.

Alexander smiled as he had the servant open the carriage door. “It’s a style I haven’t seen before. It looks very exquisite.”

“Hand-embroidered, the pattern is my design—my brother found a workshop with skilled artisans,” Prima explained.

Alexander and Louis were inseparable, seen as Louis’s shadow. Prima felt that Alexander’s compliment was almost as if Louis had noticed her too, brightening her mood and even speculating whether Louis, being reserved, was using Alexander to compliment her.

She didn’t know that Alexander noticed this because his mother, when young, worked in a garment factory on dirty Paradise Island, not even in embroidery but in dyeing and laundering. Before losing her sanity, Alexander had listened to her and her slightly older daughter dreamily discuss how the factory in filthy Paradise Island could produce such noble, beautiful, flawless dresses for the ladies of the inner city, the cost of which could build a decent house for their family, saving them from rainy seasons. Alexander even remembered a night when the family barely had enough to eat, and the mother and daughter heatedly and needlessly debated, “If God gave you a choice, would you want the dress or the house?”

Prima wouldn’t know this. The garment factory was just a term to her. She might not even be aware of how much her dresses could sell for.

Alexander stood with his hands by his sides, watching the small two-person carriage disappear into the distance, then looked down at his own impeccably tailored, stiff long coat.

The residents of Paradise Island felt they were in paradise, trying their utmost to salvage everything they could from the scalding hellish magma, while the “real” residents of White Bridge never looked directly at Paradise Island, for it was infested with rats and filth, no different from a hell on earth.

At that moment, Alexander suddenly understood something.

The reason Louis had kept Prima at arm’s length for so many years, yet was willing to establish relatively close relationships with other women outside of White Bridge.

It wasn’t because Louis despised her family or her father Khalif and that Prima was Khalif’s daughter, but because, unlike others, Louis didn’t see a boundary between Paradise Island and the inner city.

If so, why choose to stay even after reaching maturity? Fahim had left Louis a considerable fortune and options for his future, effectively giving him a choice.

Now sitting as the head of the family, if he wished to step out of the circle of power and retire to just any distant city, none of his dim-witted (forgive his words) relatives could oppose him, and there were plenty in the Wolf Family waiting for someone to vacate a position.

Alexander had always felt that Louis’s ambition lay at the very top of White Bridge, and his elusive style was just one way to keep his opponents guessing, but now he began to doubt what his boss was really thinking.

---

The author has something to say:

Prima is a kind girl, but Louis prefers a more mature type. The brothers are the opposite in this regard.

---

Kinky Thoughts:

The gender of preference is also opposite as well … given that this is a danmei—though so far it has been so slow burn that (supposedly straight) Shivers and Yitzfa have more chemistry than the Duke and his Rabbit.

However, the story is quite good, so I can’t complain too much.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 116

The appearance of the witch Elena was like an unexpected hurricane, toppling a large swath and leaving a mess before quickly dissipating. No one knew where she had gone.

This unknown only deepened everyone’s unease.

On board the Azalea was a noble from a certain kingdom, traveling to White Bridge under the protection of two Black Gold Families. This was hardly a secret in Fortuna City, so many ships set their sights there, preparing to leave port with it, which somewhat increased their sense of security.

The only ones who felt a loss and reluctance were the various hunters who had rushed over, unwilling to believe that the witch had simply died or disappeared. Only a few focused on why a witch, who should have been reclusive, appeared in Fortuna City on the eve of the auction.

The sheriff’s department’s investigation report was either openly straightforward or covertly mysterious, and copies were placed on the desks of different individuals.

“The initial record was from a makeup artist who had signed a short-term contract with the city theater and had been walking home from work at the same time for three consecutive days—the theater was about to start a new show, and he and a partner were fitting rehearsals for twenty-seven actresses. Work hours were from eleven at night to five in the morning. That day, his partner left with an actress from the theater, so he didn’t leave together.”

Soon after, he was found collapsed on the street.

Alexander had seen the report beforehand and omitted the complex details, distilling the key points. “During the rescue, the sheriff discovered he was possessed by black magic. Two passersby drove off the demon for him, but due to insufficient strength, they ended up being chased all over the streets—later, another passerby completely expelled it with a bow and arrow on the docks.”

This report was very detailed, with elegant handwriting showing a thorough investigation. Many of the details came from eyewitness descriptions. If it weren’t for the early hour, Alexander felt the report could have been twice as thick.

In contrast, the report on the actual chaos at the docks where Elena appeared was much simpler, for an obvious reason. Apart from the foreman, Pambrick, and Louis, there were hardly any witnesses that saw the whole thing. Even the one who finally drove Elena back was…

Wait.

Louis snatched the first report from Alexander’s hand, quickly skimmed through it, and stopped at the last few lines.

[Completely expelled with a bow and arrow].

He remembered the person who drove Elena back—a bowman or perhaps also a mage—as the swarm of rats that were like a plague had no effect in front of him, and the witch was powerless against him. If he had been a minute later, Elena might have escaped. However, because it was dim, he hadn’t paid much attention to the man—Louis had thought he was just one of the bounty hunters chasing her.

Louis felt this was no coincidence. The likelihood that both bowmen were the same person was high.

Both reports lacked more records about this person, indicating two possibilities: one was that the person kept a very low profile or shouldn’t openly reveal his identity, disappearing quickly after accomplishing his goals, making it impossible for the security team to track him; the second was that although they had roughly located the target, the person wasn’t from Fortuna City and was just a passerby—without concrete evidence, the sheriff’s jurisdiction over non-local residents wasn’t extensive.

As for the report’s brief mention of Charlie’s “rabbit head”, Louis decided not to be too paranoid for the moment.

“Let them know about my street attack appropriately,” Louis said. “Turn the case around. Elena is dead. They don’t need to continue the investigation.”

Now, more than Elena, he was concerned about that mysterious archer.

Alexander understood that he was taking over this contradiction, attributing the reason for the witch’s appearance to himself. Although doing so could indeed temporarily suppress this series of disturbances, it would be difficult to follow these clues deeper—if Elena’s appearance wasn’t of her own will, but summoned to Fortuna City…

But Louis had made up his mind.

Alexander nodded. “Additionally, the Azalea is ready to sail at any time.”

……

The shipping route from the docks of Fortuna to White Bridge was well-established and not far, with a quite comprehensive commercial navigation system. Luxury passenger ships were often very opulently decorated, equipped with restaurants, card rooms, gardens, music halls, and theaters. The Azalea, being a new ship, would have made for a quite comfortable voyage if not for Priscilla feeling unwell.

The Duke’s Zephyr followed shortly, maintaining a careful distance from the Azalea. Because of the slow sailing speed, even Shiloh, who was prone to seasickness, could stay on deck to enjoy the sun and teach Amber to read.

Amber was learning diligently, having mastered over two hundred common characters to date, able to independently read short obituaries and transaction information in the newspaper, and even some simple jokes.

Emerald, having been locked up, was throwing a tantrum and had fasted for seventeen hours. While this time might seem short, equivalent to missing two meals, it was quite severe for Emerald, probably due to how many years it had been asleep. This little Pluto Owl had a good appetite. After waking up, its stomach would keep growling, disturbing the Duke so much that he couldn’t even write his letters, so he had to come up on deck as well.

Amber felt sorry for Emerald, knowing the pain of hunger all too well, but he couldn’t feed it. He wasn’t an unreasonable child and knew that taming was a mutual struggle. Now was a critical time.

But he still felt sorry for Emerald.

The cold-hearted Duke ignored the occasional glances Amber threw his way, whispering something to his Shivers.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper privately said the Duke was nearly arrogant in his confidence (and indeed, his everyday demeanor confirmed this), but ever since Witch Elena appeared in Fortuna City, he had a vague sense of foreboding, making him somewhat restless, yet unable to pinpoint the source.

This anxiety was even unrelated to Elena herself. The witch’s appearance seemed more like a lever, prying into a stinking, irresistible can of rot, terrifying him.

Only then did he truly understand Rabbit Head’s reluctance to go to White Bridge. Even he was so anxious, he wondered how the other managed to overcome this feeling, casually boarding the ship and proceeding with everyone.

…Maybe it was better not to have come at all.

If he genuinely didn’t know where Rabbit Head had taken Elena, the Duke might have wanted to say just that.

As a member of the Wolf Family, which inherited the Holy Grail bloodline, they were surely more familiar with this seemingly fantastical legend. He didn’t know if there was a way to identify someone other than the Lamp Bearers, but their thirst for power was certainly more urgent than that of the nobles. The Duke never underestimated how hideous humans could be in the face of desire, and even if he wasn’t afraid, it still disgusted him.

Moreover, Charlie must be scared. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so concerned about Elena’s safety.

Unfortunately, as long as Kurt was in White Bridge, it was likely that he would still come, and as for how to rescue the astrologer then, even the Duke couldn’t guess the shopkeeper’s plan.

It was impossible to simply buy the astrologer out. Not to mention the sky-high price that the astrologer’s annual spectacle would fetch; even if it were affordable, it would require the equivalent of two or three ships’ worth of payment, which would be virtually impossible to manage with their status as stowaways. Even the wealthy Southern Lord, Lestrop, only sought an opportunity to consult the astrologer for a prophecy.

“With Tifa gaining the support of several domestic princes, he already had the upper hand. The Queen’s family, to clear Christine of suspicion in the bedroom murder case, also made a gesture this time. Lestrop, though tough, is unpopular. Even two fists can’t beat four hands,” Shivers said softly. “Plus, he’s already suffered a setback in vigor.”

He subtly didn’t state the conclusion that “Lestrop is about to fail”, but unless a miracle happened, this Earl, once more influential than the King, would soon be branded a national traitor due to his defeat.

“Christine will persuade him to adopt a merciful King’s posture, to confine his brothers, retain his title and lands, ‘to transform him with kindness and love’.”

As part of the other princes supporting the King, the land might likely be reduced. At this time, Priscilla’s plea for mercy would timely ignite public opinion. Under the circumstances of Lestrop’s defeat, if Tifa ruthlessly expelled a weak, postpartum woman with a newborn, his previous merciful facade would be self-shattered.

And Priscilla’s years of effort would come into play at this time—whether as the Lady of the Manor or the Countess, her impeccable demeanor had always been exemplary. No one in the kingdom could find another noblewoman who treated everyone with such gentleness and consideration. She even continued some traditions from Lemena, convincing her husband to waive taxes for some of the very poor, and participating in public celebrations on major holidays; thus, her reputation in the south was quite high.

It was hard to say whether she had been laying the groundwork for today from the beginning, but her never-relaxed efforts were always bound to be rewarded.

“Let Erica write a letter to the steward in the name of the Empire, allowing me entry to Doran,” the Duke said.

Mokwen hadn’t yet entered the competition for the imperial throne for all of Doran. Tifa hesitated in decision-making, lacking courage. Once domestic public opinion formed, and the Duke of Brandenburg personally visited his postpartum sister on behalf of the Pennigra Empire, this matter would succeed.

The premise was that Priscilla and the child stayed safe.

A salty breeze blew past, and both men fell silent. They watched Eugene sit at the bow, softly blowing a handmade piccolo, his tune woeful and discordant, more like an animal crying.

But strangely, including Hasting, who was leaning against the side with his arms crossed, no one on deck stopped him.

“Has Eugene sensed something?” Shivers whispered.

The Duke didn’t speak.

In fact, more than just Eugene was worried about the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Although he was stubborn and irreverent, after such a long time together, even the best actor would find it difficult to completely mask their true self over this distance, especially since the shopkeeper wasn’t deceitful. He always openly carried the “I have secrets, lots of secrets” demeanor, facing curiosity and questioning without a direct response, but never lying about it.

That was precisely why Eugene and the others were more worried—Charlie always had a way to solve everything, and even a fool knew that the secrets keeping such a shopkeeper silent weren’t related to trivial honors, self-esteem, or wealth.

As time passed, it seemed everyone was getting closer to the shopkeeper’s past, but at some point, even Shiloh gradually replaced his enthusiasm with silence.

Including this time, only Amber asked where Mr. Rabbit Head had gone and why he wasn’t continuing the journey with them.

The Duke fiddled with a pine nut between his fingers.

He didn’t plan to tell anyone about his speculations regarding the Holy Grail, not because Shivers and Priscilla were untrustworthy, but because such secrets were always best kept to as few people as possible.

However, just like with Witch Elena, the Duke didn’t believe this was an unsolvable problem. If the root of the problem lay in the Black Gold Families, specifically the blasphemous ambitions of the Wolf, then solve the Wolf and let the legend remain just that.

There were always those in the other three families who didn’t wish to see the Wolves grow strong alone. At least from Yitzfa’s behavior at Thorn Manor, they didn’t want the century-long balance of the four families to be easily broken.

“Who is the current leader in White Bridge?” the Duke suddenly asked.

Shivers paused, startled. Lemena had no official dealings with Wolf, and their focus had always been on the auction itself. The Knight Commander hesitated before answering. “The last time the Wolf King was determined, a man named Khalif won, but that was when I was still a child.”

“Then let’s find out,” the Duke said, tossing the full pine nut. It flew past Amber and Shivers, hitting Eugene on the forehead, stopping his flute playing.

“Tell them Rabbit Head is fine.” The Duke stood up, deciding to go back and see if Emerald had starved into stupidity. “So don’t be so pathetic—unless you’ve resolved to save him with a handkerchief soaked with tears.”

---

The author has something to say:

Charlie is nice to everyone, so he actually has more friends than he knows.

Dwight is quite young, and who doesn’t have a bit of princely syndrome in their adolescence? But he’s gradually realizing how much Charlie values his friends, and how miraculous his optimism is.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 115

“I don’t understand why you so adamantly refuse Miss Prima’s kindness.” A young man with short, dark brown hair was kneeling on the carpet. He adjusted his position, trying to wrap a large roll of cotton gauze around the exposed half of Louis’s body.

The fireplace inside was burning vigorously—seemingly unnecessary in this weather—but his boss was still feverish. Being half-naked in this condition could indeed turn a minor illness into a severe one.

Louis lay on a luxurious, long sofa with a cold towel on his forehead. Hearing this, he lifted his eyelids to glance at him.

“She’s not your type, Alexander.” This was his way of saying mind your own business.

“Look at what you’re saying. I’m just speaking out of justice. A lovely lady should not be treated so harshly.” Alexander finally decided to give up on his bare chest and abdomen, focusing instead on the areas near the collar and cuffs that could be seen with a bit of effort, and then generously wrapped up the precious white gauze.

“She’s just worried about you. After all, half of Fortuna City knows you were pulled into the water by the witch—news got back to White Bridge within an hour, and I bet she’d come over herself if you don’t return by dawn.” The young man kept chattering away, but his movements were deft. After finishing in the shortest time, he immediately pulled over a warm robe for Louis and flipped the towel.

There were things that Alexander left unsaid. In fact, it wasn’t news in the inner circles of the Wolves that the innocent and lovely girl preferred Louis—she wasn’t exceptionally beautiful (girls of her age were always lovely, and she indeed was pretty), but because of her delicate status—her father was the current Wolf King, Khalif.

In the Wolf Family, inheritance wasn’t the norm. It had always been about who was capable. Although Khalif himself had six sons, not one of them held a seat among the five elder chairs that symbolized the family’s power. From Khalif to the lowest dock worker, it was seen as natural; the family didn’t need a weak or incompetent alpha, including Khalif himself, who legitimately ousted his predecessor to wear the ring of power.

This stern and powerful family head was undoubtedly strict with his sons but quite gentle with his daughters. Each year, akin to the social season of the kingdom, similar events would take place within White Bridge. He would actively seek suitable young talents from the family for each of his daughters. As a result, during her first foray into the social circle at the age of 12, the youngest daughter Prima immediately took a liking to Louis.

At that time, Louis, four years her senior, was still not of age. Although Fahim had let him be exposed to various things early on, he was still just a child. Most people still saw him as Fahim’s shadow, but Miss Prima—her eyes set on this boy—hadn’t changed her mind for ten years.

Unfortunately, Louis was just as firm as she, never giving her any unrealistic hopes—from a certain perspective, both were equally stubborn.

“If it’s with her father, I’ll see her,” Louis said lazily.

The fever hadn’t muddled his brain. The hotter his body, the cooler his mind seemed to get. Louis was getting impatient with Alexander’s gossip about scandals, but the next thing Alexander said did make him perk up a bit.

“Lord Khalif is also very concerned about you. This was Miss Prima’s last message,” Alexander said. “So, what do you think?”

As a high-ranking family member, the news of Louis being attacked had indeed spread quickly in White Bridge, with everyone speculating what had happened and whether Louis had survived.

After all, he had been out of contact for seven hours, and Louis, who had secured one of the five chairs, was still too young—years later, some still believed he wasn’t deserving of his position.

If Louis had wished, he could have personally reassured Miss Prima during their expensive magical communication, telling her that although he was injured, his life wasn’t in danger, and he would soon be heading back to White Bridge. That would have quelled much of the simmering speculation.

But he wasn’t even willing to perform the superficial niceties, instead delegating his personal assistant Alexander to respond, which even Alexander couldn’t stand to watch anymore.

But he only murmured a few words about it. In reality, Louis was quite gentle with most women. If not for her status, starting a romance with a pretty girl wouldn’t be a problem for him.

It’s not that Louis was putting on airs. Everyone knew that although the Wolf family didn’t directly inherit power, having a senior paved the way, and grassroots efforts yielded entirely different results. Even Louis himself was brought up by Fahim’s hand. If he agreed to marry Miss Prima, Khalif would likely invest more heavily in cultivating him—if his capabilities and ambition lined up, he might well become the next Wolf King.

But that’s just public opinion. Louis didn’t think Khalif would hand-help his own rival because of affection for his daughter.

Yes, a rival.

The idea of the old stepping aside for the young was just nonsense. Who would willingly give up power after sitting on the throne for so long?

Especially Khalif. This man appeared dignified and fair, but as one of his closest high-ranking officials, Louis could sense how he was becoming more tense each year, no matter how well he tried to disguise it.

Khalif is getting old.

Louis thought.

The fear of aging turned into a pervasive vigilance. No matter whom he talked to, saying good things about Louis and wishing for Prima’s wishes to come true, he never once used his position to force Louis into submission on this matter.

Khalif was wary of anyone being labeled as his successor.

Since that was the case, Louis hadn’t bothered to spend time with Prima. That girl was truly innocent, likely one of the few people in this world who believed her relationship struggles with Louis stemmed from differences in poetry preferences, heavy workloads, and the ever-changing weather.

“What do you mean?” Louis glanced at the bed in the inner room, his skin aching, not wanting to move.

Alexander frowned. “What will you say when you return? No normal person could stay submerged in the water for hours without surfacing, especially with so many people looking for you. Then, in the middle of the night, you suddenly emerge, wounded.”

He gestured at the remaining strip of gauze in his hand. “In truth, you don’t have a scratch on you. If anyone asks, will you tell them a fantastical story about being swept away during a struggle with the witch, attracting a big fish with blood, and fighting it before struggling ashore and walking back? And those gift baskets… Since when do we apologize to guests over trivial matters? Especially when some aren’t even our guests.”

This time, when tasked with protecting the Countess, Alexander was left in White Bridge to wrap up the work, arriving in Fortuna City just after Louis. It was there that he noticed his boss’ increasingly erratic behavior.

Hopefully, it wasn’t a delayed rebellion. In the family, Louis was hardly everyone’s favorite, with countless people watching him like hawks. If he was too careless, he would reveal flaws. In a place like White Bridge, letting your guard down often meant death.

He felt he needed to remind Louis of this.

“He won’t ask,” Louis said. “And if anyone does, add more details and use your imagination.”

Alexander raised his hand. “Fine, fine—if you’re that tired, should I carry you to bed?”

He had noticed Louis glancing at the inner room, and since it was already late into the night and Louis still had a fever, continuing the discussion was unwise.

Louis closed his eyes. “Just turn off the lights.”

“You’ll be more comfortable in bed—” Alexander began to say, but he saw his boss turn his back to him on the sofa. A clear sign to stop talking.

Alexander had no choice but to compromise. He headed for the door before returning to grab a blanket from the inner room and placed it snugly over Louis. “I’ll come back in an hour to check if your fever has gone down.”

Louis remained motionless.

He only opened his eyes again once he heard the door click shut.

Many in the family believed that Fahim gave Louis everything—his name, identity, wealth, and career prospects—but the useful things Louis inherited from his uncle were fewer than they imagined. Alexander was one of those few.

Even without Fahim, Alexander had proven his loyalty and trustworthiness as he grew up with Louis. But Louis never shared his secrets with him.

That’s why Alexander was often puzzled by his boss’ behavior. He might think Louis was unambitious, yet he had been striving to climb since his teenage years. The elder’s chair and brooch weren’t gifted to him by Fahim. But he also had a subtle attitude towards those in power, staying on the fringes of the family’s core authority. Miss Prima was just one example.

Including tonight, he sensed Alexander’s excessive chattering was expressing his dissatisfaction, feeling frustrated because Louis hadn’t explained what happened with the witch. Alexander believed he was wholeheartedly helping Louis, and his concern and anxiety over Louis’s disappearance were genuine, but Louis remained silent, treating him like anyone else.

Louis knew what his assistant was thinking, but as long as it concerned Charlie, he couldn’t tell anyone.

He fought for power and status in the Wolf Family, not because he wanted to be the Wolf King. In fact, he had always felt disgusted by this decaying, dark, colossal family.

He only did it for Charlie and himself.

Fahim’s lie made him believe Charlie was the Holy Grail, and as one of the few families in history to have had a Holy Grail, the Wolves had the most clues. Even the prophecy of the astrologer who died years ago about “one of the twins falling in the southwest, igniting the fires of hell” came from the Wolf Family’s head at the time.

So if anyone identified Charlie and tracked him down, that person would likely be from the Wolves.

If he didn’t fight and lived a mundane life in the old walled house in Fortuna City, then it was likely that when his brother was brought back and used to reignite the life of the demon, he would be oblivious.

This horrifying idea kept Louis moving forward.

He needed to rise to the head of the family, sit in the closely guarded study, and listen to them discuss their deepest secrets.

To extinguish the dangerous flames before anyone else could notice, and if things spiraled out of control, personally end that ominous prophecy before it became irreversible.

That was what he lived for.

---

The author has something to say:

Louis doesn’t like sleeping in bed, but he is disciplined. Normally, it’s fine, but people tend to be more willful when they’re sick.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 114

Emerald, realizing it had been tricked, instinctively pounced on the cage—to gnaw at the bars.

Unfortunately, this large cage was custom-made by the Duke after confirming its identity, and he had taken the trouble to bring it along, proving its practicality was fully worth its expensive cost. After all, throughout history, humans had rarely succeeded in capturing Pluto Owls, let alone domesticating them. The Duke always liked to be fully prepared.

Doran is home to the Mages Association, making it somewhat more convenient than Pennigra to purchase and customize magical items. Emerald didn’t understand how much the Duke had spent on this strange, large cage; it only discovered that no matter what position it tried, it couldn’t really gnaw through those shiny metal bars, leaving it both angry and deflated.

In fact, the Duke hadn’t underestimated it. Legend says that an adult Pluto Owl’s wingspan was as long as an adult human was tall, and its sharp beak could easily crush animal skulls. Even a poorly tempered steel knife might be gnawed apart by it, and coupled with its extraordinary flying speed, if it could be trained for combat, it would undoubtedly be a great asset. This was probably why, despite the difficulty of capture, generation after generation had pursued this legendary creature.

But that was in an “adult” state.

Previously, in a state of feigned death, Emerald was dry and shriveled, able to blend into a pile of bats that were palm-sized without any discrepancy, indicating it was far from adulthood. Even after the Duke had plumped it up a bit with liquor, it merely went from bat-sized to pigeon-sized. Strictly speaking, the crows that filled the sky were a bit bigger than it, so although the flock was in disarray, it actually didn’t eat many crows. The rest of the time, its instinct was merely confirming its place in the food chain.

In other words, it was mainly playing.

Small, playful, and foolish—it didn’t seem like a typical Pluto Owl. Given its size ratio and such naive behavior, Emerald might still be a toothed fledgling.

Children were always easier to handle than adult beasts—the Duke watched it gnaw at the cage for a while, gradually forgetting its initial purpose and focusing on contending with the cage. He signaled Amber to bring a piece of thick, deep purple velvet to cover the cage.

The velvet’s thickness was good for blocking light. They listened as the previously noisy gnawing gradually slowed down, and after a while, it stopped altogether.

…It was probably asleep.

Everyone present thought.

Eat and then sleep—good, it’s a promising baby.

Seeing Emerald calm down, Shivers tactfully had Hasting send Amber to bed, while the underage Shiloh, despite having no speaking rights, was allowed to attend adult meetings because of his strong combat capabilities.

But Shiloh didn’t mind this. First, because his mind indeed didn’t work as fast as the Duke’s, and second, because he had grown accustomed to following orders from an early age. Additionally, for some reason, he had a peculiar filter for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, always feeling that nothing could stump the man, even if it involved disappearing with a notorious witch on the continent.

In this regard, Eugene was somewhat like him, blindly optimistic that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would soon kill (?) the witch and return to join everyone, possibly even bringing back a strange magical item made from the witch’s bones—like a crucible that could keep food perpetually fresh.

But now, no one knew where he had gone with the witch or when he would return. His last words to the Duke had been, “Louis holds grudges. Elena might be in trouble. I need to see if I can save her.”

Then he blew up a giant balloon and floated over to join the fray. It wasn’t known if he noticed Emerald’s deterrent effect on the crows, but surprisingly, none of the birds went after the colorful balloon to peck at it, preventing him from falling into the water prematurely.

If the rabbit-headed shopkeeper were here, he’d certainly have boastfully declared something like, “Birds like to use bright and exaggerated shapes and colors to intimidate their opponents. I simply followed the laws of nature and achieved success through strength.”

The Duke didn’t share his speculations about the identities of Charlie and Louis with everyone, not because he didn’t trust the Brandenburg Knights. Having inherited the Dwight name, he was willing to entrust his life to them, including Shiloh. The originally scruffy little thief Eugene had also proven his loyalty and reliability during this journey. But this matter was too significant, and it was prudent to keep the circle of those in the know as small as possible. Dwight had decided, even Priscilla couldn’t be told.

“I think Mr. Charlie will definitely come back. I’m just not sure when,” Shivers said sensibly. “After all, the auction is happening soon.”

Everyone knew that if it weren’t for Astrologer Kurt, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would be very reluctant to go to White Bridge.

“Should we wait?” Shiloh asked.

The Azalea was originally scheduled to sail in the evening, but due to the sudden commotion on the dock, many were still using the lights to clean up overnight. No matter how urgent, they probably could only wait until daylight the next day.

They had planned to leave with the Azalea.

“Sail as planned.” The Duke decided after a moment of thought. “We only wait for the Azalea. Waiting aimlessly for his return serves no purpose.”

As long as the destination was the same, they would reunite soon.

Hasting was somewhat fixated on Witch Elena. Although possessing a magic-resistant constitution meant he could theoretically disdain all mages, Hasting never underestimated a witch’s lethal power—Mr. Charlie was probably a mage too, but so far, he had never shown a hint of offensive magic capability, instead using tricks for spying, tracking, invisibility, or even pranks, seemingly unable to beat even Erica’s mediocre fireball magic.

If it were purely physical combat, that would be passable, but his opponent was Elena, who commanded an army of rats.

Another thing was that Hasting always felt the Duke’s attitude towards the shopkeeper was a bit special. Beyond “trust”, there was something indescribably more “significant”. At least previously, apart from the Knight Commander, the Duke rarely had someone he was so close to and comfortable with around. The reason everyone appeared calm about it was that Hasting and Hall weren’t the type to show their emotions openly, and aside from matters of principle, the Knight Commander wouldn’t speak out against the Duke’s actions. In fact, if others at Brandenburg saw their remarkably close interaction, rumors would have exploded across every inch of Lemena.

The majesty of a lord? Nonexistent when it came to secretly gossiping.

Because of this, the Duke’s decision to so readily “give up” on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, unwilling to wait even one more day, confused Hasting slightly, but this confusion was soon resolved hours later.

A midnight visitor put the shift guards on high alert—after all, although they hadn’t disembarked, nearly everyone had heard about the chaos at the dock that afternoon. When representatives from the Black Gold Family of Fortuna City came to visit, they were tense, fearing part of the witch’s power might have infiltrated the ship.

It turned out, the visitors were there to apologize.

The mercenaries, unfamiliar with the etiquette of the grand households, watched speechlessly as a man dressed as if for a banquet, despite it being the middle of the night, his hair meticulously parted, approached them. Even the two attendants behind him carrying gifts were neatly dressed, with respectful expressions on their faces.

As the saying goes, it’s hard to strike a smiling face. Though the mercenaries thought the visitors were odd, given the clearly friendly gesture—and because the visitors had also slipped a gift their way—they could only awkwardly respond with a mix of formal and informal language, then relay the message to Hasting.

Although reticent, Hasting was much more adept at handling such situations than the mercenaries. He didn’t even glance at the gifts or attendants behind the man as he calmly thanked him for the untimely condolences and invited him to stay for a cup of hot tea.

The man subtly sized up Hasting, assessing him internally before turning to casually select a basket of pastries from the piles of gifts that could be described as small mountains, and repeated the usual platitudes about mismanagement causing distress to esteemed guests, before leaving.

Not a word more than necessary, let alone staying for tea.

Hasting wouldn’t think, like the mercenaries, that this was making a mountain out of a molehill. After a brief reflection, he took the basket of pastries picked out by the visitor to the Knight Commander.

“Apologies at this time?” Shivers leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at Hasting.

Hasting nodded.

It couldn’t be said that all of Fortuna City was under the control of the Black Gold Families, but at least the dock area was indeed managed by the Wolves and Monkeys. Plus, most of the ships temporarily docked in Fortuna City at this time were bound for White Bridge, so it wasn’t wrong to treat them as hosts offering condolences for this afternoon’s disturbance.

However, the timing was peculiar, and it was even stranger that the rotating mercenaries were bypassed to wait for Hasting, who looked more “in charge”, to appear. Hence, Hasting brought over the basket of pastries specifically selected by the visitor.

After learning that the visitor claimed to represent Mr. Louis, Shivers carried the basket and knocked on the Duke’s door.

“Come with me,” he told Hasting.

In the Duke’s room, only a soft lamp was left on. Emerald’s large cage was placed at the foot of the desk, from which intermittent snores could be faintly heard.

Dwight had just fallen asleep not long ago and was somewhat irritable. He stared at the basket for a minute after listening to Hasting’s report, while Shivers turned on another lamp.

Just as Hasting thought the Duke would turn back to bed, the Duke suddenly said, “Stand back.”

Hasting obediently stepped back five paces, still eyeing the basket.

Was the Duke suggesting the basket was magical?

“What time is it now?” he suddenly asked.

The Knight Commander glanced at the floor clock. “Quarter past four.”

“It seems Louis is back.” The Duke slowly became more alert. “If he hadn’t shown up, that pack of Wolves would have been in the water all night trying to find him. They wouldn’t have had the leisure to do this.”

And specifically making it known that they were acting on behalf of Louis, apart from declaring to all those watching the dock that Witch Elena had caused no harm to the Wolf family, had another purpose: to send a message to specific individuals.

For example, to Priscilla, who couldn’t casually inquire about these matters due to her position and stance. At least this midnight visitor could set her mind at ease.

And here too, indicating that Louis had safely returned meant that Charlie, who was with him, was also safe. The gifts being pastries and flowers also underscored this point. As for the basket…

The Duke didn’t personally untie the ribbons but watched the Knight Commander open the beautifully crafted gift basket, from which he extracted a basket of soft, sweet pastries, and a handcrafted chocolate egg in a glass bowl.

That chocolate egg was clearly a magical item—once the packaging was removed and it contacted the air, it heated up and melted in less than half a minute into a bowl of chocolate sauce.

And then there was no more.

Everyone watched the bubbling chocolate sauce, and only then did the Duke fully awaken. His expression was blank as he looked at Shivers, holding the glass bowl. “What is he trying to say?”

The Knight Commander was just as confused—who was he to ask?

But the boss was looking at him, and he had to come up with something, even if it was just words.

“Mr. Charlie and Louis together…” He tried to analyze rationally, but as soon as he spoke, the chocolate sauce “popped” up half a finger’s height.

…It seemed almost excited.

The Knight Commander hesitated and glanced at the Duke, then tentatively added, “Charlie?”

The chocolate sauce popped up another bubble, forming, in their view, a shape like a round-headed matchstick and a split twig.

The matchstick and twig were initially very close. Then, the twig surged to the edge of the glass bowl, while the matchstick stopped for a while before also surging in another direction. When it stopped, the twig turned back and moved closer again. Once they were near each other, they “popped” back into the bowl together.

The Duke felt a headache, not sure if it was because of this playful messaging method or because he actually understood it.

The split twig probably represented two long ears, and the matchstick was him. The two blobs of chocolate simply and vividly acted out a theme: you go first, I’ll follow.

He hadn’t planned on waiting anyway. The Duke expressionlessly settled back, casually pulling up the covers to cover half his face.

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The author has something to say:

Emerald’s diet consists of birds, but it’s not a bird. It’s a wyvern. If I must say, I conceived it based on a pterosaur.

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 113

No one expected such an event to occur.

A group of people stood on the dock, staring at the still-rippling water—besides the waves that hadn’t completely settled, there was nothing else. They had rushed to the scene as soon as they heard the news of the witch’s appearance, but even those who ran fastest only managed to see a splash of water. By the time they thought to ask the person who had been closest to the witch, Hasting had already disappeared without a trace.

Pambrick, disheveled and anxious, stood on the shore with several stewards, watching crew after crew and dock workers dive into the water to search. They weren’t interested in the so-called witch, but Louis was a highly regarded new force in recent years, and if something happened to him, the responsible parties wouldn’t escape blame.

Therefore, even though the sky was still full of crows (the rats had disappeared as if the tide had gone out), and the crows dived down to attack anyone who went into the water, the Wolf fleet and archers were already in place. As long as the birds came close to the surface—Pambrick watched the crows fly up in response to another team entering the water, and the captain beside him was about to signal to shoot the arrows when suddenly everyone experienced a severe ringing in their ears.

The pain was sudden and inexplicable, almost as if some creature had emitted a roar inaudible to humans.

The sudden disturbance confirmed this, as the crows abruptly stopped their dive toward the surface. Most of the black birds urgently turned around, desperately flapping their wings to fly higher.

Unfortunately, they weren’t fast enough.

Only a few with exceptional eyesight could vaguely see a nearly invisible, insubstantial flash of lightning appear in the sky above the harbor. It moved so quickly that only its afterimage was barely perceptible, but it was clear that wherever the lightning passed, it swept through the crows like a sharp, long knife. Those detestable birds didn’t even have time to let out a hoarse cry before they lost their lives.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Hasting had already returned near the passenger ship, even climbing up the iron chain hanging from the ship’s side without using a gangplank, all the while watching for the irrationally attacking crows, but the attack he anticipated never happened.

It should be said, since the appearance of the crows, an eerie vacuum had formed around the ship they were on, including the nearby ships, and not a single crow was seen on the masts’ lookout posts.

Shiloh was there to assist him, and as soon as Hasting’s feet hit the deck, the red-haired youth handed him a pair of fuzzy…

“Earmuffs?” Hasting’s eardrums were still throbbing.

His resistance to magic hadn’t worked, indicating that the sudden pain was unrelated to magic and was more likely caused by a sonic wave.

Hasting didn’t put on the earmuffs but held them in his hand while Shiloh gestured for him to talk inside the cabin.

“Louis emerged from underwater and assassinated Elena,” Hasting reported exactly what he had seen. “But before he could pull out his knife, Mr. Charlie jumped from the ship, plunging into the water with both of them. Then,” he furrowed his brows, searching for the most accurate words, “a black hole suddenly appeared in the water, swallowing them up, and they disappeared.”

He used the word “disappeared”, not “gone missing”.

Because he was the first to reach the water, and it was a shallow area near the dock stairs, there were no waves or undercurrents that could have swept people away instantly. But Hasting swore they disappeared immediately upon entering the water, without even a bubble surfacing.

What surprised him even more was that the Duke, who had never left the cabin, nodded nonchalantly when he heard the description, as if not surprised at all.

Even Eugene reacted the same.

“If Elena is dead, he probably plans to escape to the ends of the earth.” Dwight looked at Hasting. “Can you be sure that witch died from that one strike?”

Hasting shook his head.

Louis was from the Wolf family, which differed from proper nobility. They didn’t waste time on ceremonial etiquette or the postures of dueling but learned real killing techniques from childhood. Even though the situation was sudden, Hasting could clearly see the knife being plunged directly into the heart.

If it were an ordinary person, that strike would be fatal within minutes.

But the opponent was a witch, powerful, and, although not skilled in close combat, likely had some defenses to cover her weaknesses.

“I saw the knife enter her heart, but at that time, Elena was preparing to flee and was transforming.” Hasting, although not a mage, understood the basic theory. The witch was probably trying to escape by mimicking a crow, but Louis was quicker.

If she was casting magic at that moment, it indeed couldn’t be judged by normal logic whether that strike was fatal.

Dwight frowned.

Previous conversations and subtle reactions made Dwight realize that Charlie actually needed Elena’s curse as a disguise. Especially after entering the Wolf Family’s territory, his tension indicated that his true identity was taboo to this family—yet Louis, who looked similar to him, held a significant position within the family, indicating that the taboo wasn’t due to conflicts of interest or enemies, but due to his “existence” itself.

Apart from the Holy Grail, what else could provoke the Wolf Family?

If so, he and Louis might be twins. With each generation of the Holy Grail supposedly only having one person, which one would it be?

Neither twin would readily admit this. Given Charlie’s efforts to maintain his rabbit-head disguise, it was unlikely they would easily acknowledge each other’s existence in public.

In other words, the taboo wasn’t solely about Charlie or Louis, but about the fact that they were “twins”.

“Don’t speak lightly of Louis,” Dwight said. “Pretend he has no connection to us.”

Aside from Shivers, who vaguely sensed something was off, Hasting and the others didn’t understand why the Duke had issued such an order. Despite their confusion, they followed the instruction, especially Hall, who discreetly dropped his plan to privately investigate the relationship between the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the two prominent Black Gold Families of White Bridge.

Dwight scanned the room, his gaze settling as he pondered.

Louis was troublesome in many ways. For Charlie, Louis’s existence was a significant threat, although the threat was mutual. He was also a danger to Priscilla. Should anyone link him with the Countess of Mokwen and then start questioning the purity of her unborn child’s bloodline, their plans up to now would be in jeopardy.

Yet they couldn’t simply kill him.

Priscilla aside, looking at Charlie, still sporting a rabbit head and seeming quite content, it was likely he still had deep feelings for this brother.

Therefore, to conceal his identity, knowing the Duke’s understanding of Rabbit Head, he would certainly intervene to save him as long as Elena was still alive. The creature that could instantly take several grown men from the water was likely the Darby Belly Fish, a rare beast capable of changing its size at will and moving at incredible speeds, making it not too difficult to follow the waterways into a nearby city to find a doctor in a short time.

But the question was, where had the fish gone?

Louis would definitely return. Priscilla’s ship was still docked at the harbor, and with the auction about to begin, as a high-ranking member of the Wolf family, he wouldn’t miss it lightly.

As for Charlie, with Kurt still in White Bridge, he would likely return too, but the question was, when and in what form…

A knock on the door interrupted Dwight’s thoughts. He looked up as Shiloh quickly went to open it, exchanged a few words in a low voice at the door, then turned back with a somewhat peculiar expression.

“Amber says, Emerald is back.”

When the Duke stepped onto the deck, the initially overwhelming number of crows had almost entirely vanished—except for those lifeless bodies floating on the water. Many crew members in uniform were rowing out to retrieve them one by one, with divers continuously searching the water, trying to find any trace of Louis and the witch.

Seeing that the turmoil had visibly subsided, other ships moored at the harbor began to boldly draw their curtains to look out. The dock remained inactive. The night had fully fallen, and lights along the shore shone brightly, reflecting off the lights on the salvage boats with the area outside the light sources remaining dark.

They hadn’t turned on the deck lights, so no one noticed the Pluto Owl perched on the ship’s railing, wagging its tail. Amber stood not far from it, appearing eager to get closer.

“Emerald,” the Duke said from five steps away. “Do you remember your name?”

The Pluto Owl turned its head to look at him. Those eyes that had been closed before were now wide and bright, and just as the Duke had said, a clear emerald green.

But it didn’t move.

The Duke glanced back. The captain, already attuned to him, came out with a large silver bowl, normally used in the ship’s restaurant to serve fruit but now filled with a clear liquid that wafted a rich aroma of liquor as the captain walked.

Shivers carefully placed the large bowl of the best distilled liquor from Nyx—worth its weight in gold and said to have been traded by a dwarven chieftain for an iron mine—in the Duke’s hands.

“Hmm,” the Duke hummed, taking the bowl and stepping forward two more steps. The aroma of the liquor was overpowering, making Shiloh, not yet of age to drink casually, inadvertently inhale sharply.

It was a trio again.

Eugene and Shiloh exchanged glances, then looked at the Pluto Owl, which also seemed very interested in the large silver bowl.

But the Duke didn’t hand over the bowl.

“Emerald,” he called again. Man and beast stood silently facing each other in the night wind for a long time, until Eugene couldn’t help shivering from the cold. Only then did the Pluto Owl, still entirely black, twist its body to face the Duke.

It recognized the scent of this person. Although it had been in hibernation, its body still maintained a slight perception of the outside world and could distinguish that the other had no ill intentions towards it.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have dispersed the crows and then turned back to return here.

Eugene and the others held their breath as the Duke confidently held the heavy silver bowl—the Pluto Owl finally flapped its wings, and in a blur too fast to see, it pounced on the edge of the large silver bowl and started gulping down the liquor.

The Duke raised an eyebrow. “As expected, it awakened because of hunger.”

Its diet probably included various birds. Although it had been asleep, Elena’s flock of crows must have sensed the bloodline threat long before and stayed far from it, but to no avail.

Such a large swarm of crows was undoubtedly a feast for the Pluto Owl, which had been longing for energy. Instinctively, it opened its eyes, burst through the window, and quickly gobbled up enough to round its belly.

Having eaten its fill, it naturally became thirsty. The Duke had previously used expensive liquor for soaking (?), which played a crucial role—after eating, relying on its memory, it didn’t soar into the sky but returned to this ship.

It drank eagerly, not noticing the hand holding the bowl was moving, until the liquor was nearly gone. It belched, lifted its head, and realized that the comfortable night breeze was gone, replaced by the slightly cloying indoor air and a strange large cage.

The bowl was still in its beak, and the Pluto Owl didn’t even remember when it had entered. It foolishly watched as the door, the only way in and out, was mercilessly closed by the person who had given it the liquor.

The Duke casually handed the key to Amber beside him, instructing, “Feed it for a while first, then you can take over once it’s tamed enough.”

Amber nodded, and together with the others, they sympathetically watched the legendary “incredibly fast, uncatchable” Emerald.

The books never said such an animal could be so foolish.

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