Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 92

Under normal circumstances, a luxurious mansion was more refined, comfortable, and warm than a castle built with bare stones, but this rule didn’t apply here.

The first time Shivers entered the farmhouse near this place, he chose not to enter the mansion itself out of caution. It was only now, as he ventured deeper, that he realized this large house seemed to be split into two parts from the inside. With a central line as the axis, the right side featured tapestries, chandeliers, and stained glass windows in red, green, and blue—a conventional structure. Shivers believed that if he followed the wooden peach-tip arched corridor forward, he would see an exquisite front porch, hallways with warm-toned mahogany closets and handrails, and a meticulously decorated living room, smoking room, and dining room, perhaps even including a small stage with a screen for band performances during banquets.

However, the other side was starkly different, characterized by cold hardness, with black metal doors set into stone walls, and hallways adorned with various stone-carved guardian beasts, appearing damp and chilly.

As intruders who were unwelcome to the light, they unanimously chose the left side without much thought or discussion. Such overly austere, opaque interior decor was highly unusual for a manor like this. The all-stone walls and nearly undecorated spaces reminded Yitzfa and Shivers of something entirely not residential, more like a secretive, closed-off monastery.

This type of overly ascetic architectural style wasn’t very common in Pennigra, but it wasn’t entirely extinct: they were usually built in remote rural areas, away from bustling populations, to accommodate zealous hermits or, during outbreaks of infectious diseases, to serve as quarantine sites for the infected.

Unlike the noisy and chaotic farmhouse, the mansion, unaware of a breached watchtower, remained orderly. The anxiety from below didn’t permeate the thick stone walls to affect the people inside. In the corridors and staircases that connected various spaces, maids in uniform dark dresses occasionally passed by in pairs or trios, not talking to each other and showing little sign of anxiety, though occasionally a steward would pass through the corridors in a serious manner, carrying or holding some wrapped items.

Shivers’ brow twitched as he pressed down on Yitzfa, who was trying to peek at what they were carrying.

Their overly tattered attire didn’t attract much attention in the farmhouse, but it was very conspicuous inside the mansion. Fortunately, the internal security forces were fewer than he had expected.

Yitzfa, held back by Shivers and unable to speak out, still managed to gesture frantically. Shivers ignored him and patiently waited until two men pushing carts appeared in their line of sight, then threw something that emitted a faint sound, extinguishing the sole light illuminating the corridor.

Everything happened very quickly.

Yitzfa’s eyes hadn’t even fully adjusted to the darkness when a bundle of hastily rolled-up clothes was stuffed into his arms—likely belonging to one of the unfortunate cart-pushers.

The person’s actions were incredibly fast—he couldn’t understand how in a few minutes of darkness, someone could manage to knock down two people, strip off their clothes, roll them up like garments, and stuff them into a cart—steps that even in broad daylight he would find challenging to accomplish.

“What’s in the cart?” Yitzfa asked quietly, trying to discern the front and back of the clothes in the pitch dark.

Shivers was silent, quickly putting on a coat and then pulling Yitzfa, hastily stripping off his torn robe.

“Oh my,” Yitzfa said, “What are you doing? Now’s not the time to be getting touchy…”

The Knight Commander stuffed his head through the neckline, swiftly dressing him like a preschool child.

By the time the lights were lit again, the two had barely changed clothes in less than thirty seconds. A maid, lifting her skirt, appeared at the end of the corridor—just relit, the light wasn’t yet bright enough, and she was more focused on the floor. She politely nodded to the two men, who courteously made way for her to pass, then walked by them.

As if confirming their suspicions, the further they walked, the more the structure resembled a penitentiary. In the long corridor, there were three narrow doors on each side, some slightly open, others locked.

“Just these tablecloths.” Shivers gently closed the door, careful not to make a sound, but the rusty metal still emitted a few faint creaks, particularly clear in the quiet space.

They randomly chose a door in the middle on the left, slightly ajar. The cold air inside told the visitors that the room wasn’t frequented. Thus, Shivers and Yitzfa also pushed the cart containing the two unconscious servants inside—along with them, the small room was nearly full.

Yitzfa took a moment to realize Shivers had just answered his question from a few minutes ago about what was in the cart.

It must be said, the timing was perfect. The cart, originally just a frame, was neatly covered with tablecloths to hide the two unfortunate knocked-out servants, successfully deceiving anyone who looked. If they had been a little slower, he might have had to rudely deal with the woman who appeared afterward.

Yitzfa pulled out a matchbox from somewhere, lighting up a small area by his hand. Shivers watched as he quickly shook out a tablecloth with one hand, inspected each piece of what seemed to him ordinary green embroidered tablecloths, then glanced at a few silver plates in the corner of the cart.

To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, Yitzfa quickly snuffed out the light with a snap.

“Lestrop has indeed returned,” he said in the dark.

Before Tifa’s guards and the Southern Lord arrived, they had hidden in the farmhouse’s storeroom, only able to guess from the frantic farmers what was happening outside the manor. Only now did Yitzfa confirm that the true master of the manor, Lestrop, had indeed arrived.

“How so?” asked Shivers.

“The tablecloths are all clean, no stains,” Yitzfa briefly summarized. “There are two fruit silver plates and a covered dessert plate by the feet of that unconscious gentleman, mostly intact except for some slight enamel wear on the edges, not easily noticed without close inspection.”

This was the basic preparation any trained steward would make upon the return of the master, irrespective of whether the house owner was fastidious or not.

This also related to the route they chose. On the more habitable right side, it was probably in complete disarray now. The maids must follow the steward to reorganize all the tableware, decorations, and bed linens, while the servants were responsible for checking chandeliers, dismantling curtains, and disposing of discarded furniture—they had just caught two unlucky ones transporting tablecloths, probably trying to take a shortcut through less crowded areas, only to be knocked out.

Shivers raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised that Yitzfa actually made some sense. He didn’t want to judge by appearances, but Yitzfa had indeed always seemed more interested in rolling in perfumes than doing serious work. That he could analyze the situation accurately without adding chaos at such a time made Shivers revise his opinion of him.

“This place doesn’t seem like it’s lived in year-round, more like a confinement… solitary cell.” Yitzfa, having gradually adapted to the darkness, could vaguely make out the simple furnishings in the narrow room: a single bed, a wooden bedside table with something on it—perhaps a candlestick—and a stool barely qualifying as a chair.

“This environment isn’t suitable for pregnant women,” Shivers analyzed. “For the sake of the fetus, the manor would take proper care of them. This place is probably used to punish and brainwash those who are uncooperative or to house those who have lost their utility.”

He was reluctant to call it a cell, not only because building something resembling a dungeon within a dwelling was somewhat over the line, but also because standing in this narrow, boxy space made him more acutely aware of the suffering that innocent people, manipulated and even killed by the estate over the years, must have endured.

Lestrop certainly didn’t return to check on sheets and utensils. Rather, the manor, located halfway up the hill and somewhat distant from the foothills’ farmhouse, couldn’t be updated in real time about what was happening on the periphery, which was why the panic hadn’t spread around the manor.

“What are the chances that Lestrop would personally appear at the front line when the fighting starts?” Yitzfa suddenly asked.

“More than half,” Shivers conservatively replied. “The manor isn’t a castle. A siege wouldn’t last very long.”

“Living areas on the right, solitary cells on the left…” Yitzfa pondered for a moment.

Logically, people tend to keep valuable items within a somewhat private line of sight, such as in bedrooms or study room secret compartments, suggesting they might need to head right.

But the division of the mansion was quite extreme. Residential and almost non-existent guest (except necessary visitors like doctors) functions were concentrated on the right, while the left side featured the cold setting of a penitentiary, indicating that this end was less willing to be scrutinized.

Their time was limited. Even if the potion on the arrowheads could keep the two soldiers on the watchtower rigid until sunrise, those rotating and patrolling would notice something wrong, and there were also the two missing servants. Regardless of how stealthily and carefully they moved, they couldn’t afford to spend too much time analyzing.

“This corridor allows you to see straight to the end,” Yitzfa noted. “Only six rooms and four doors at the end, which have no bolts or locks. It’s probably a communal washroom. We should quickly check this area while it’s not crowded. If we find nothing, we’ll try to blend into the right side, getting into either a study or bedroom.”

This was a relatively safe method.

But his companion didn’t quite agree.

“That’s not efficient,” Shivers stated. “We’re limited on time, with little room for error. Lestrop will only be distracted by the battle temporarily. Once he turns his attention back to the manor, with his status and control, we’ll be like two moles trapped in a flooded burrow, forced to surface.”

Yitzfa looked up at him. The room had no windows, and the only light source was the dim corridor light seeping under the door, allowing him only to see a vague outline of the man standing in the center of the room. Yet, oddly, his eyes shone unnaturally bright in this environment—bright like a bonfire on a winter’s night.

Something was a bit off.

Yitzfa observed him closely to ensure nothing strange had happened to him, such as being possessed by some ancient grievance in this chilly place. But thinking back, even before they had infiltrated the manor, some of his actions had already seemed somewhat unfamiliar to him.

For instance, his responses to Yitzfa’s flirtatious behavior while hiding in the storeroom, his excitement when aiming at the two archers on the tower, and his current mental state, which differed from his usual gentle and cautious demeanor, all made him feel like he was meeting this man for the first time.

…How interesting.

Yitzfa blinked. “So, what are you planning to do?”

“Besides Lestrop, there must be someone else who manages the estate affairs in his absence. We’ll just ask him directly,” Shivers said without hesitation, not noticing his expression was more excited than serious.

What he meant by asking was not a polite knock followed by a face-to-face conversation at a tea table, but it appeared he was prepared for a more forceful approach.

The second or third in command at the manor wouldn’t be as easy to handle as the servants pushing the carts of tablecloths, always surrounded by aides. But the Knight Commander didn’t see this as a problem. The only issue was finding a place to hide Yitzfa—who could get hurt just by bumping into a wall or sharp furniture edge—before taking action.

“So, we…” Yitzfa started, but was suddenly silenced by a hand over his mouth.

Shivers quickly moved him to the side, pressing against the wall next to the door, careful to avoid angles that might reveal their shadows to anyone in the corridor.

Yitzfa’s eyes widened, completely unaware that someone had approached outside.

Each room’s metal door had a small, hinged flap that seemed designed for passing food or small items. They crouched slowly against the wall, and Shivers lifted a crack just enough to see the heel of the last person walking past the door.

They listened attentively. There was no sound of the flaps being moved or locks being opened on either side, suggesting the person had entered directly into the large room at the end of the corridor.

But given the external structure of the mansion, the room at the end of this left-wing corridor was already at the edge of the building. Unless the person was silently holding a secret meeting inside, they must have moved elsewhere through that room.

A secret room.

The word flashed through Shivers’s mind.

Just then, a warm, light tickling sensation passed through his palm. Looking down, he saw his right hand still covering Yitzfa’s mouth. Yitzfa, taking advantage of the posture, said something into his palm, prompting Shivers to quickly remove his hand.

“No need to choose anymore.” Yitzfa seemed unbothered by having his mouth covered, turning his head to repeat what he’d just said, his eyes squinting with a smile. If this expression were on a slightly less attractive face, it might have seemed somewhat sinister, but coming from Yitzfa, it carried a mischievous charm that was hard to be angry at.

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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 91

“Did you know in advance that Lestrop would make a move against Tifa?” Shivers asked in a lowered voice.

Yitzfa and he were standing in a wooden cabinet, just over three feet apart. The cramped space meant their bodies were only a fraction of a fist’s width. The smell of poor-quality pine mixed with the musty scent of aged wool made it hard to resist sneezing without great willpower.

Upon hearing the question, Yitzfa blinked and suddenly reached out to touch Shivers’s abdominals.

Shivers: “???”

If not for the tight space and his vivid memory that they were supposed to be hiding, he might have reflexively fought back against Yitzfa.

Being taller than Yitzfa, from his angle, all he could see was the soft top of his head and a perky nose.

“Nice physique,” Yitzfa commented, irrelevantly. “It’s evidence of strict training without slacking off.”

Shivers helplessly asked, “What do you mean?”

“Lestrop is the same.” Yitzfa’s voice was almost a whisper. “He’s twenty-seven this year, already an Earl, and is married. There hasn’t been any major warfare on Mokwen’s borders in recent years.”

Shivers immediately understood his point—Lestrop wasn’t a King, but he had rich lands and a gentle wife. At least on the surface, he had lived comfortably for a long time, yet he still maintained a tall figure, was full of energy, and had a sharp look. Anyone who saw him wouldn’t doubt that if he took up a sword and mounted a horse, the Earl would still be the valiant prince of years past.

In contrast, the brother who sat on the throne, though of a similar age, already had a slack and swollen face, and beneath the royal robes, there was a sense of being overwhelmed.

This was certainly related to their characters. Even when the old king was still ruling, Tifa wasn’t a warmonger. His study of horsemanship and combat, aside from following Mokwen’s tradition of martial rule, was more about currying favor with the old king.

That’s why Lestrop was once the favored one. Such people weren’t easily corrupted by fine wine and bed curtains. They pursued only power and strength.

Even after his brother took the throne, he never slacked off, which only meant his gaze had never left the palace.

No wonder Tifa became more and more restless day by day. Being watched by a sharp opponent like a hawk, anyone would reach their limit.

“Although the Holy Grail trials haven’t yet succeeded, Tifa has noticed the existence of the manor and has made several probes… Lestrop has always been more dominant than Tifa, and as a counterattack and warning, he “dealt with” several of Tifa’s mistresses.”

Unlike Lestrop, who preferred traditional noble women, Tifa, as the first to introduce Mokwen’s flamboyant and splendid style, leaned towards passionate and bold women of lower status, especially with the advent of the flying box, allowing him to pick from beauties from all over—those known for their beauty, aside from the socialites in upper circles, were mostly famous courtesans.

Shivers remembered the early days in Doran, the scandalous murders occasionally seen in the morning paper by the Duke, and the vicious incident Eugene witnessed in the back alleys of Syriacochi.

Those innocent women who died were all pregnant… Lestrop was intentionally selecting mistresses who had successfully conceived, provoking the King in an extremely cruel manner.

Thus, Tifa, unable to endure any longer, first confined Christine, the Queen rumored to be entangled with the Earl, and then, during Lestrop’s trip to White Bridge with his wife, he made his move on the manor. The attack at the Lababata border was also hard to completely dissociate from the King.

Whether it was Christine or another pawn placed in the royal city, Lestrop received news midway and secretly hurried back.

Even if unrelated to this royal struggle, Shivers still understood why the old king favored Lestrop. So far in this fraternal conflict, except for the matter of succession, Lestrop had almost always had the upper hand over Tifa.

But perhaps because of this, the old king ultimately chose Tifa over Lestrop.

In dealing with Tifa’s women, Lestrop showed unnecessary cruelty, which, while coldness might be a necessary quality for a ruler, cruelty wasn’t.

“Tifa’s military sense is inferior to Lestrop’s. After succeeding, he spent years integrating the royal army, which is why he didn’t kill Lestrop outright back then and only suppressed him with the title of Earl.”

“Do you think he’s ready now?” Yitzfa chuckled barely audibly. “Ready to be the final victor.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Shivers also spoke in a barely audible volume. “But one thing’s for sure. I’m not ready to be touched by a man in a cabinet for so long.”

Yitzfa’s hand was still resting on his abdomen.

“Ah, sorry,” Yitzfa looked down and said without any hint of apology.

Shivers understood that as a Fox, even if one didn’t need to scurry around like a lower-class worker, familiarity with the romantic realm was common, and there were even rumors that the higher one’s status in this family, the more pleasurable secrets one held—secrets generally unseen by ordinary people. To them, the boundaries of physical contact may be different from those of ordinary people.

The Knight Commander considered himself an ordinary person. His mind might be clear, but his body could easily be misunderstood.

So, he changed the subject. “Tifa will not personally step onto the battlefield, but once the conflict erupts, he will not be safe in the royal city either.”

Lestrop wouldn’t let him stay away from the flames of war, sitting in the palace controlling everything. Rather, having come this far, he must also have made arrangements in the royal city.

At that moment, a muffled commotion came from outside, and the two immediately stopped talking, instinctively slowing their breathing.

Their chosen hiding place was a storage room in the farmhouse, used for storing useless items that the general farming household had no right to touch. Most of it was outdated, moldy flour and hunting gear from years ago—considered trash by the mansion’s people but not something the farmers could easily handle.

Thus, they were in a rarely visited storage room.

The battle would likely take place on the periphery of the farmhouse, with women and children gathered in places like the mill that had water reserves, and labor and combat forces moving to the front lines, creating a few temporary vacuums in the farmhouse.

Shivers listened intently for a while. The noise outside didn’t reach their storage room but seemed to be next door—in the place where communal iron tools were stored, chaotic footsteps and shouts intermingled.

His spirits lifted.

Since hiding in this cabinet, his sense of time had become strangely blurred. They had no other contacts, and it was difficult to know what was happening outside, so he specifically chose this storage room for its proximity to the iron tools next door.

The manor was guarded by a small armed force, and Lestrop’s return would also bring soldiers. If they needed to open the iron tool warehouse under these circumstances, it meant that ordinary farmers were also being armed for battle.

The scale of the battle was larger than the manor had anticipated, and it had already begun.

He nudged Yitzfa, and the two held their breath, waiting for the noise outside to gradually subside before gently pushing open the cabinet door and moving aside several half-person-tall wooden racks used as cover.

This was pre-planned. The storeroom was a visual dead spot in the early stages of the conflict, and almost no one would come here. However, as the situation evolved, it was uncertain if someone might take advantage of the chaos to “shear the Lord’s wool”—in the eyes of the farmhands, this storeroom might contain many treasures they had never seen, posing a risk of exposure if they hid there for too long.

Yitzfa tightened his slightly loose belt. The clothes he was wearing weren’t his, but rather tattered disguises Shivers had scrounged up from somewhere. Though they had been washed in advance, he still thought they smelled of stinking cheese.

Shivers was dressed even more shabbily and had dyed his bright blonde hair a nondescript dark brown. Bending his back to alter his posture, he looked completely different from the handsome traveler hotly discussed by the ladies in town.

“This color is really ugly,” Yitzfa critically said. “What kind of dye is this? Can it be washed out?”

Shivers adjusted the wrinkled hem of his garment. Blending into crowds was something Eugene was quite good at, and Shivers had learned many tricks from him.

“We’ll just go out the door,” he said quickly, ignoring Yitzfa’s comment about his hair color. “There’s no need to avoid the crowd. In chaotic situations, the more you blend into the crowd, the less noticeable you are. Be quick once you spot the target. Don’t stop along the way and show no signs of guilt on your face. If someone suspects and stops you, take the initiative and scold them fiercely.”

Yitzfa nodded.

Though he always appeared nonchalant, he knew when to be serious.

“Take this.” Shivers pulled out a large basket from the storeroom and filled it with what might be blankets or shawls, piled high enough to cover the lower half of his face without overly obstructing his vision.

“Follow closely behind me—if someone respectable-looking stops us, say that the Lord of the Manor kindly sent us to deliver blankets to the women and children hiding at the mill. If they are dressed like us, say the Lord ordered us to move things from the storeroom to the manor.” Shivers also shouldered a wicker basket and, after ensuring there was little activity outside, gently pushed open the door. “Let’s go.”

It was the first time the farm had been this chaotic.

The moon had risen high in the sky, and torches blazed around the barn and at the troughs. Some women, clutching children who didn’t understand what was happening, ran towards the gathering places, while more people ran back and forth on the usually quiet paths, shouting loudly, their faces unnaturally flushed by the firelight.

Most people knew what was happening: the manor was under attack, the Lord was leading soldiers in defense at the periphery, and the elderly, with some authority in the farmhouse, directed them to scatter and hide, reassuring everyone in hushed tones that there would be no problem and that the men would soon drive back the intruders.

Only a very few bold individuals who had been outside before murmured that a fully armed troop had arrived, with shields so identical and shiny from a distance that they hardly looked like the rabble the elders described.

More like some kind of regular army.

But they were just law-abiding farmers, most of whom had never left the farm or entered a city. Why would a regular army come to attack them?

Although they dared not voice this question aloud, many still stole glances towards the majestic manor on the hillside before quickly averting their eyes.

With their status, they had no way of knowing the true identity of the Lord inside the manor.

Only when suddenly faced with a crisis did many realize that, from birth to death, they and their forebears, even their descendants, belonged to the farm yet knew so little about their own home.

Until someone came knocking, they didn’t know why.

This confusion heightened everyone’s fear, and many instinctively ran to their relatives and friends at the designated shelters. Apart from those armed, few took the road up the hill, which led to the manor and had once been a path many young people aspired to follow.

This greatly facilitated Shivers and Yitzfa’s mission. Civilians who had never experienced war wouldn’t notice anyone moving in a different direction in their panic. They encountered little scrutiny and soon reached the outskirts of the manor.

However, the defenses here were much stricter than at the farm. All doors and windows were tightly shut from the inside, and the watchtowers were brightly lit by fire, ensuring not even a fox could approach the manor through the bushes.

Shivers and Yitzfa discarded their baskets and disguises in the shadows and observed their surroundings from a distance.

“One guard each at the left and right of the main door, one at the back,” the Knight Commander said. “We’ll enter through the back door.”

Yitzfa pointed to the two archers on the watchtower near the back door. “How are we going to get in?”

“Just knock them down,” Shivers said succinctly, his attention focused on the two men above.

The watchtower was fortified, and attacking from the ground wasn’t only visually challenging but also limited the strength of any arrows—beyond the archers’ line of sight, the arrows wouldn’t reach, and if they adjusted for the range of the arrows, they’d be spotted by the two men on the tower and turned into pincushions.

Although he thought Shivers’s serious demeanor was quite handsome, Yitzfa still thought his statement was obvious.

But the next second, he saw Shivers, like a mage, pulling several strange parts from various places on his clothes and starting to assemble them right there.

“What’s that?” Yitzfa squatted down to watch his movements.

“A crossbow,” Shivers replied without looking up, quickly fitting the parts into place. “A friend made it… Easy to assemble and disassemble, with a range and power greater than those above.”

After assembling it, he suddenly remembered something and said to Yitzfa, “He also made a smaller hand crossbow that doesn’t require much strength to use. That one would suit you well.”

Yitzfa let out a long “Oh,” and then watched as Shivers pulled out a strange gray-white spherical object.

“I guess, this is also made by your friend?” he said.

Shivers didn’t answer but just grinned and stood up straight in the shadow of the hedge, suddenly throwing his arm up. There was a popping sound in the distant bushes, and a conspicuous puff of smoke appeared.

But Shivers didn’t pay attention to that direction. Yitzfa, following Shivers’s gaze, looked up to see both archers raising their bows and leaning over the railing of the watchtower, half their bodies sticking out.

Shivers raised the crossbow, accurately targeting their silhouettes.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said briskly.

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The author has something to say:

Charlie: Is there a rank difference in the Knight Order?

Shiloh: Apart from the captain, everyone is the same.

Charlie: Then why is Hasting the one who takes over Shivers’ duties when he’s away, rather than Hall or any other knight?

Shiloh: I haven’t thought about that… Maybe because Hasting is most like the captain?

Eugene: ??? In what way? They’re different in appearance, personality, and how they treat people.

Shiloh: The way he gets uncontrollably excited during battle is quite similar.

Hasting: Wait, when did I become a pervert?

Hall: You didn’t know about your own nickname?

Hasting: What nickname?!!

Shiloh: The captain is usually very gentlemanly but turns into a bad guy when fighting. You usually have no expression, but you smile when fighting. The difference is so big it can only be described as perverted.

Charlie: Huh, I really want to know how perverted they get during a fight.

Hall: Don’t worry, Hasting, only the enemies see your perverted side. It doesn’t affect how women see you.

Hasting: Can you guys stop repeating the word ‘perverted’?

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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 90

Before taking action, Shivers sent a report to the Duke, recounting in as much detail as possible the history of the Holy Grail and the elusive rules that many desperately sought, as told by Yitzfa.

1. The Holy Grail originates from the Black Gold Family.
2. The Holy Grail is more like a recessive genetic disease. As time passes, many may inherit this bloodline, but only one person truly awakens at a time.
3. There cannot be two Holy Grails in the world at the same time—as long as the person with this forbidden bloodline is awakened and continues to breathe, a second Holy Grail cannot appear.
4. Only the Lamp Bearers can verify the authenticity of the Holy Grail, but it cannot be commanded.

This meant that whether it was the castle witch embedded in the wall due to magical backlash or the present forces represented by the Mokwen royal family of the various Doran nations, their cruel efforts were in vain—only the Black Gold Families could give birth to the Holy Grail. However, these forces that had spread across the continent were regarded as unworthy by the nobility for centuries.

They may covet the wealth in the Black Gold’s hands and even rely on their familial abilities, but overall, dignified nobles wouldn’t tolerate any association with a Black Gold Family, let alone intermarriage.

This was probably an instinctual caution and agreement among all nobles, regardless of their rank, much like how they would instinctively frown and avoid rats, united in closing the channels through which the major Black Gold Families might gain noble status through their surnames.

Therefore, Yitzfa mockingly criticized the actions of the Mokwen royal family. Dwight noticed that in his later conversations with Shivers, he disdainfully referred to them by name.

A King and an Earl, born noble, attempted to combine this glory with legend to create an entity both obedient to them and capable of overturning the continent, believing they were on the right path, not realizing that their proud noble lineage was precisely what ensured their failure.

Oh, the irony.

Shivers also wrote: Although people often discuss the Black Gold Families together, they are actually relatively independent. They may interact occasionally, but they aren’t the natural allies as rumors suggest, and there is even some opposition between them.

At present, we don’t know the stance of other Black Gold Families. Speaking of Yitzfa alone, the Fox family has an ambiguous attitude towards the Holy Grail. He used the words “seize or destroy”, but these two statements are somewhat contradictory. I lean towards one of them being Yitzfa’s own opinion.

Dwight noticed that the Knight Commander didn’t make a preliminary judgment on which statement was Yitzfa’s own opinion for the Duke’s reference as usual, indicating that Yitzfa’s words and actions made it difficult to judge.

At the same time, Yitzfa said the Holy Grail comes from a Black Gold Family but didn’t specify which one. This may belong to a higher level of classified information. Even though Shivers explicitly mentioned that he could buy the information, Yitzfa still avoided this question.

There were four existing Black Gold Families: Fox, Wolf, Monkey, and Lion. Apart from Wolf and Monkey, the other two families had always been distinct and non-interfering, with their family bases far apart. The claim that they were once one family hundreds of years ago didn’t hold, and the instances of intermarriage in the past two hundred years were too few to count, with no shared bloodlines.

Therefore, Shivers was more inclined to believe that the Holy Grail would only come from one or two of these families.

If it was one, it was very likely the Lion family, which tended to be reclusive and lived in the high mountain ice plains. If it was two, then the relatively frequent interactions between the Wolf and Monkey families make them likely candidates.

“Which one do you think it is?” he asked.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked serious. “I think the Knight Commander is very reliable, and I agree with all his opinions.”

Unexpectedly, this blatantly cheeky attitude didn’t anger the Duke. He just glanced at him and then nonchalantly returned his gaze to the letter.

This made Charlie somewhat uncomfortable.

Not just because of the reply, but also because it reflected a recent change in the Duke—the Duke of Brandenburg’s demeanor had visibly become more reserved. He was seldom provoked by his intentional or unintentional teasing anymore, and more often than not, he reacted like he did just now: not angry, but without any other emotional response.

In the polite language of the nobility, this was tolerance.

In the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s words, it was the look one gives a fool.

No one would argue with a fool.

What unsettled him was exactly this point. Given the Duke’s character, any perfunctory behavior and concealment shouldn’t be so easily forgiven. The only explanation was that the Duke had seen through his reluctance to engage in discussions about the Holy Grail.

Perhaps he had also begun to doubt his own identity.

So, the more Dwight knew, the less he could afford to speak carelessly—the young Duke’s talent for analysis and deduction was alarmingly sharp, and Charlie didn’t want to test how much he had guessed.

If possible, Charlie hoped that everything about the Holy Grail would be buried forever, but people kept digging, and with more investigators, secrets would one day no longer be secrets.

But it must never be revealed through his own words, so playing the fool was his only option.

And for some reason, the Duke now tacitly allowed his pretense.

The two men, each with different thoughts, had achieved a strange, temporary balance.

“Shivers is bringing Yitzfa to the estate.” Dwight continued reading the letter, furrowing his brow slightly. “According to the timing, Lestrop should have already arrived.”

Perhaps they had already started fighting.

“What are you planning to do with this brother-in-law?” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked deliberately pettily, and sure enough, he was met with a sidelong glance from the Duke.

Knowing many details, Dwight disliked the term “brother-in-law” even more. He preferred to call him “a shameless thief”.

He had removed the originally blooming Lemenian rose but hadn’t provided the necessary care, causing everyone at Brandenburg to be frustrated.

“Tifa’s personal troops should have also arrived. Whichever dies, I’ll open a good bottle of wine,” Dwight said lazily. “If both die, I’ll ask Mokwen for war.”

He would conquer this kingdom for Priscilla to raise his little nephew.

That’s what he said, but while Lestrop might personally fight, Tifa was unlikely to leave the royal city easily—if he were so belligerent, rumors wouldn’t still be circulating in the capital about the old king favoring Lestrop as his successor.

Dwight remained skeptical about whether Tifa, the coward, truly had the guts to confront his brother with weapons. But regardless of the outcome, someone would be severely weakened.

If Tifa managed to kill Lestrop and eliminate the southern lord, using the name of the Mokwen Empire to exert pressure, that fertile territory would definitely not fall into others’ hands.

As for the Earl’s title… even if Priscilla couldn’t claim it immediately, as a widow already pregnant, it wasn’t impossible to advance further with proper manipulation.

It would be even better if Lestrop managed to seize power by killing Tifa in a single stroke. Taking his life while he was weakened after battle, and with the remaining royal relatives being useless hedonists, it wouldn’t be difficult for Priscilla, with her capabilities, to take control of the kingdom.

By then, with Lemena covertly supporting Mokwen to lie low for a few years and stabilize the situation, he was confident that he could collaborate with his sister to thrust his nephew into the struggle for the Doran Empire.

It simply couldn’t be more delightful.

“Tifa won’t enter the battlefield,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper reminded him. “Unless the conflict escalates, and Lestrop counterattacks the royal city…”

Dwight looked up at him, and upon meeting his gaze, Charlie suddenly stopped.

Something felt off.

Lestrop rushed back to the manor, and Priscilla headed towards White Bridge—she was almost there, while Tifa was in Syriacochi, the royal city, perhaps waiting to reap and take over his brother’s ambition.

What had he overlooked?

Pleased by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s rare, puzzled expression, the Duke cheerfully hinted, “Tifa doesn’t need to be on the battlefield, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

Charlie quickly calculated in his mind that the conflict between the brothers was fundamentally due to years of discord and conflicts of interest. If there were a third or fourth party involved in the battle, they must also be stakeholders.

Who else could be involved in their interests? Duke Baylor? No, he had investigated this person, who spent half of the year bedridden with illness and had no offspring to date.

Most of the old king’s sons were dead, and the princesses who married abroad rarely returned to the country. It was unlikely that they would intervene in this turmoil. Who else could there be?

The implication in Dwight’s words was clear: “he” referred to Tifa, meaning that it was very likely that person shared interests with Lestrop.

Charlie widened his eyes, looked at Dwight, and uncertainly uttered a name. “Christine?”

Tifa’s queen, Lestrop’s lover.

Would she stir up trouble in the royal city at this critical juncture?

Dwight didn’t speak, but his expression was subtle. Charlie stared at his light-colored eyes for a while and finally remembered what he had overlooked.

Another ambitious Dwight, Priscilla.

Charlie had forgotten that before their meeting in Lababata, this Countess hadn’t anticipated that her brother, the Duke of Brandenburg, was still within Doran’s borders.

That is, she hadn’t considered leveraging Lemena’s power. Charlie had thought her confidence stemmed from her years accumulated in Mokwen, enough to protect herself.

Thinking about it now, he probably underestimated this Dwight.

“Tifa and Christine each had their own attachments before their marriage. Christine, needless to say, almost everyone knew she had been involved with Lestrop. In comparison, Tifa’s scandal was more discreet, more taboo, and thus more talked about.” Charlie slowly recalled. “There were rumors in the palace that he fancied Countess Priscilla, partly because she bore a strong resemblance to his deceased sister, Princess Riley.”

Such rumors, even newcomers like them had heard. Priscilla, having lived in Mokwen for several years, couldn’t possibly be unaware.

She might know more, knowing the specific similarities between Princess Riley and herself, whether it was hair color, physique, or appearance…

Humans were a contradictory species.

Christine might not love Tifa, but being the Queen, everyone knew her husband’s heart had never leaned towards her, which still could make her feel humiliated.

Priscilla knew about Lestrop’s secret dealings with her, but she never lost her composure, especially in the eyes of everyone in the royal city. She was always seen as a gentle, kind Countess, blissfully protected by her husband. The King’s special treatment also surprised her, but she naively never explored the reasons behind it.

Her happy demeanor could easily sting Christine. The two men in her life were distracted by Priscilla—especially Lestrop, who, no matter what private vows they shared, was for the most part a considerate husband to his wife.

Priscilla had planted a splinter in her heart.

In the long game of mutual testing, Tifa and Lestrop’s tolerance for each other had reached a critical point. Priscilla secretly learned that Lestrop, through the use of high-level mercenaries, had killed several women Tifa had been experimenting on, and Tifa’s continued tolerance made him increasingly uncontrollable. The last time, an assassin infiltrated the king’s bedroom.

Lestrop crossed the line.

From this loss of control, Priscilla judged that the brothers were about to turn against each other, and just as Tifa’s recent favorite mistress became a casualty, she sent a girl, who was long selected and not very stunning but resembled Princess Riley more than she did, to the king’s side before leaving Syriacochi.

Tifa knew who the real killer was but still allowed the Senate to accuse Christine, letting her carry the murder suspicion, while Priscilla adeptly played the role of a lavish noble lady, casually mentioning to her husband that this year’s Wolf auction featured a very rare astrologer, rumored to interpret all secrets hidden in the stars, true or not.

Lestrop was indeed moved and, despite the royal city’s buzzing gossip, insisted on leaving for White Bridge.

Just at this time, a girl who resembled the late Princess Riley by seven parts was openly brought into the royal palace by the King, receiving his undivided attention and even making the murder in the bedroom seem less significant.

For a moment, Christine seemed to be forgotten by everyone.

And the splinter had finally grown into a thorn bush.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 89

“Who is the owner of the manor?” This was the most crucial point for Shivers—Thorn Manor wasn’t registered at the town hall, indicating that it was a private property of a noble at least of viscount rank, yet there were no family crests of any Mokwen nobles around the manor’s perimeter. Few who had entered or left the manor had any clues or were tight-lipped about it. In this situation, Yitzfa claimed that the manor’s owner was coming back.

Shivers had already learned from the Duke that Thorn Manor belonged to the southern lord Lestrop and knew that he had left his wife to return to his homeland alone, but Yitzfa seemed to know more details.

Yitzfa was reclining on a low couch with a fleece blanket over his knees, leisurely blowing the steam off the cup of tea in his hand.

This wasn’t pretending. He genuinely felt cold.

Although it was already spring, the persistent drizzle still made one feel bone-chillingly cold, especially as most buildings in the mountain town were made of stone, with the cold clinging tightly to walls, floors, and roofs, making one shiver at a glance.

The Peters’ house had a lady of the house and plenty of maids, with fireplaces burning from winter into spring, not only keeping the interior dry and warm but also covered with carpets everywhere. Even the tabletops adorned with lace tablecloths were meticulously embroidered by the maids.

Not so here.

But considering it was only Shivers staying here, it was normal for a single man to overlook these details.

After taking a sip of tea, Yitzfa said, “It’s on record that Earl Lestrop secretly visits the manor twice every year, and this year is the fifth year. However, one time he was followed, and the follower left spies in town… From last winter to now, the capital of Syriacochi has received at least two reports, more frequent than before.”

He wasn’t playing coy but freely shared information that was nearly the same as what the Duke’s party had gathered. The spies lingering in town because of the manor were far more than just Shivers and Yitzfa. Yitzfa’s hints were clear.

Shivers quietly calculated in his mind. Including the suspicious Priscilla and the father of the child she met because of her suspicions, there were at least five groups focusing their attention on this small town—it was truly chaotic.

This was probably why Yitzfa had so quickly abandoned local forces to seek cooperation with Shivers. If multiple powers were to intervene directly, then not only the likes of the Peters couple but even the town officials probably wouldn’t have much right or say in the matter, making it pointless to waste effort there.

It was hard to say whether the Fox family was aware that the Countess was also shadowing her husband. If they only caught the king’s movements, the Black Gold Families would definitely not cooperate directly with the reigning monarchy… Yitzfa’s proposal, besides seeking assistance, was also a means to probe Shivers’s position.

As the Knight Commander watched Yitzfa start to sip his tea again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

The way he drank tea looked a bit awkward. It lacked the Duke’s elegance and the knights’ utilitarian guzzling. Instead, he sipped continuously, small sip after small sip, neither graceful nor efficient.

It seemed to be purely for warmth.

But it wasn’t Shivers’s place to manage him since he wasn’t a knight of Brandenburg.

Shivers looked away.

“So, you mean Lestrop will head straight for the manor after returning to the country?” he asked. “Then, the ‘opportunity’ you mentioned, is it before or after his arrival?”

Yitzfa thought for a moment. “I think we should try to enter the manor with the Earl.”

Shivers waited for him to explain.

“The King hasn’t put forth a full effort to rescue him in Lababata, and the conflict between the royal brothers has been brought to the public, leading to possible armed conflicts. I believe the Earl rushed back, not to his own domain but directly to the manor, because he thinks it’s more crucial than his territory.”

In reality, the reason why the southern lord’s title was more prominent than that of an Earl was that his lands weren’t only rich in resources but also because the sugar production developed from beet farming monopolized the national market, affecting neighboring countries. This was probably a concession made during his ennoblement to slightly balance the lowly title.

But all of this seemed less important to Lestrop than this secluded manor, which was intriguing.

“So if a dispute is indeed going to break out, it’s likely to happen here?” Shivers immediately understood. “In front of armed forces, closed doors and silent farmers holding pitchforks are negligible. The mansion is likely to be chaotic and out of control before a victor emerges.”

However, that didn’t mean those who watched the fight could rest easy. How to navigate through sword flashes and avoid horse hooves without being seen as an enemy by those blinded by conflict also required skill.

Yitzfa felt he couldn’t do it alone and needed someone to lead.

But the Knight Commander thought he was joking.

If a localized war really broke out, being in the center of the conflict meant even those clad in full armor could hardly guarantee safe exit, let alone Yitzfa, who wouldn’t be able to move under the weight of regular chainmail.

Not to mention, aside from agility, a certain level of combat skills was necessary for self-defense. Did this person, who could spend half an hour on a cup of tea, even know the correct way to hold a sword?

Listening to Yitzfa’s so-called plan of “they fight, we slip in through the cracks unnoticed and pick up the leftovers”, Shivers felt suffocated.

Indeed, different professions had different expertise. If it were someone from the Lion family, they would never say such a thing so brazenly.

Up to this point, Yitzfa had given him the impression of being too shrewd, willful, cunning, manipulative, and hard to coax… Only at this moment did this beautifully furred fox show the recklessness and naivety characteristic of his simple brother, Cici.

Seeing that silly, unaware look, there was no doubt they were biological brothers.

He then had to explain in detail how indiscriminate a battlefield is and that current local wars are primarily offensive and defensive. Not even one Shivers, let alone two, could intervene in the melee of two forces while also pulling Yitzfa in.

Yitzfa acknowledged this but didn’t accept his evasion.

“So tell me, what’s a better way?” Yitzfa pulled the blanket up. “As long as it’s feasible, I will pay a suitable reward—at that time, even Tifa might be jealous of you.”

Shivers was slightly moved.

The dispute between Tifa and Lestrop over the throne undoubtedly involved the “Holy Grail”. By mentioning this, was Yitzfa implying that the Foxes had more information on this than even the Mokwen king?

“If a conflict truly erupts, appearing rashly would be like entering a herd of out-of-control buffalo unarmed. The consequences are unpredictable,” Shivers said rationally. “Either we enter the manor before Lestrop to await the outbreak, or we look for breaches among the ruins after the battle—both options carry risks.”

Pre-battle defenses were usually the most stringent, and the movements of outsiders could likely be exposed during checks and scheduling unless a relatively safe blind spot for hiding was found; post-battle, fatigue and reduced vigilance may decrease, but inventorying spoils was always a priority. If they wait until the main forces withdraw, there might be very little value left.

Yitzfa listened quietly, then thought for a while. “Then we’ll get ahead of Lestrop.”

This aligned exactly with Shivers’s analysis. Risk always coexisted with opportunity. Being overly cautious might lead to missing out entirely.

Yitzfa’s quick acceptance of his suggestion was somewhat surprising. Shivers had thought he would be more willful, as many accustomed to high positions were stubborn.

But Shivers wasn’t swayed by the congenial atmosphere of the discussion.

He leaned back comfortably in his chair, hands crossed, his tone even. “Assuming I agree to cooperate, for safety’s sake, it’s best we are both open and honest.”

Yitzfa looked at him innocently. “What do you mean?”

“I need the secrets and evidence concerning Thorn Manor,” Shivers said first. “What about you?”

Testing each other might be an amusing emotional game at other times, but it was inappropriate in serious work. No matter how brief, Shivers wouldn’t expose his back to someone untrustworthy, no matter how handsome.

Yitzfa lowered his eyes. He wanted to drink more tea but found his cup empty, so he poured himself some, quickly calculating during the brief interval.

Just like his first impression, this man was far more troublesome than his appearance suggested.

Polite, considerate, skilled, and quick to react.

Although he had never directly seduced the other party, the various charms that had previously been irresistible in front of Yitzfa were like stones dropped into a deep pond, eliciting no response at all, leaving him unsure of how best to interact with him for his own advantage.

He likely came from a good background, with negotiation tactics that revealed no flaws, a resolute character, never led astray, but also never harshly rejected, always keeping his options open.

His way of interacting with others depended on who stood before him, reflecting a mirror-like personality.

Yitzfa held the cup in his hand, staring directly at him. “My goal is the same as yours, but I aim to go further.”

“If the dispute between Tifa and Lestrop ends in victory for one side, I want to seize or destroy what they fought over before the victor regains their senses.”

At that moment, Yitzfa’s expression and tone were colder than any Shivers had ever seen before.

Shivers lightly pressed his own palm, reminding himself to control his expression.

“What is that?” he asked quietly.

Yitzfa looked at him with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. After the matter of Tifa, the fact that Shivers could find this place meant he wasn’t completely ignorant of the source—although it was hardly a secret at some level.

“Have you heard of the ‘Holy Grail’?” Yitzfa asked.

As he expected, Shivers nodded.

“The legend of the Holy Grail has always existed, but most who pursue it don’t know its true origins.” Yitzfa’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Some speculate that the Grail itself possesses divine power, capable of changing the heavens and the earth. Others believe the Grail isn’t human, but a great demon sealed for centuries, using human lineage to return to the world, but neither is true.”

“The Grail is a person. Just like you and me, possessing no supernatural powers, needing meals daily, and careful nurturing to grow.”

Shivers frowned but didn’t interrupt.

If it held no supernatural powers, why then would Tifa and several powerful families be in such endless dispute over it?

Yitzfa didn’t need to see to know what Shivers was thinking.

“The Grail itself has no power, but it can indeed awaken certain forces. This concept comes from an old legend where someone made a deal with a demon, tricked it into consuming its flesh and blood, causing it to weaken and fall into slumber, while that person’s blood gained incredible power: such blood could not only awaken the demon from the abyss but also exorcize it in exchange for blood.”

“At the cost of blood?” Shivers couldn’t help but ask. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the blood of the Holy Grail isn’t only the key to unlocking forbidden powers but also the nourishment. Every fifteen days, a cup of fresh blood can ‘nurture’ a demon through the Grail,” Yitzfa explained. “That is the true meaning of the Holy Grail—not power itself, but a sacrifice.”

There was silence for a while.

After a long moment, Shivers found his voice again. “How can you be so certain?”

If royal families like Mokwen had to rely on vague legends to grope their way, how did Yitzfa come to know such secrets? Was it due to the powerful intelligence network of the Fox family?

The temperature of the cup in Yitzfa’s hand had gradually diminished, becoming somewhat cold, but he didn’t let go.

“I told you. If Tifa knew what I’ve told you, he would be jealous of you,” Yitzfa said with a mocking smile. “The earliest Holy Grail came from a certain Black Gold Family.”

The noble royal families, holding the scepters of light, crazed for imagined mighty powers, were unaware that the bloodline passed down through generations meant that if the Holy Grail were to be reborn, it would inevitably come from a Black Gold Family.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 88

The handsome blond youth sat by the window with a worried expression, half his body framed by the large glass window like a pleasing oil painting.

Less than an hour after sitting down, he received several handkerchiefs through the hands of waiters, each one without exception carrying a rich fragrance, highly tantalizing.

Even the middle-aged male waiter wiping glasses behind the counter felt that such melancholy in the gentleman could only be due to love troubles.

And as it is well known, the quickest way to forget an unsuccessful romance is to dive into another passion. Thus, he was more than happy to help those sufficiently bold young ladies by acting as Cupid delivering their messages.

On one hand, he lamented that a man as handsome as him wouldn’t be heartbroken for long. On the other hand, the generous tips made him hope that the gentleman would sit for a while longer, sigh for another hour, and he could buy that new bow tie he had been eyeing for a long time.

Though the cause of his worry had nothing to do with romance.

The reason for his anxiety was that the Duke and his party were heading to White Bridge.

As the Knight Commander, he absolutely trusted that each of his knights was excellent enough and loyal enough to offer everything for the Duke, but this trust hardly eased his anxiety about not being able to guard the Duke personally.

After all, it was White Bridge, a notorious lawless zone, a place where even if he was right beside the Duke, he would have to be on guard with twelve times the usual vigilance.

Moreover, Miss Priscilla was also joining this time.

Shivers just wanted to sigh deeply without regard for appearances.

Although the Dwight family was powerful, it was relatively sparse in terms of kin; the Duke and Miss Priscilla were the last of their lineage. If anything happened to these two on the continent of Doran, there would be no need for him to return to Lemena—his family had served the Duke generation after generation, all their glory and responsibilities tied to Brandenburg. If anything went wrong on his watch, he wouldn’t need his family to blame him. He could bury himself in a hole.

Shivers drank the last of his chili tea, the aggressive flavor giving a jolt that significantly reduced the dizziness he had been suffering from due to recent sleepless nights. It was no wonder that many people used it as a medicinal tea. He raised his hand to signal the waiter for a tea change, just as a somewhat frail figure appeared in the large glass window by the door and pushed it open, the bell above tinkling gently.

The tea house wasn’t very crowded at the moment, mostly occupied by young women in lively chat, which was consistent with its more femininely oriented menu and décor. However, it was rare that Shivers, a man, didn’t feel out of place in such an environment.

The one who pushed the door, Yitzfa, was not in a good mood.

He rarely got up at this time, let alone went out, and the large glass window design of this shop allowed the sunlight to fill the space unabated, which he found irritating.

Shivers looked up and met his gaze, but Yitzfa didn’t move immediately. His beautiful cat-like eyes swept around, and he indeed noticed a chestnut-haired girl with a headband in the corner glancing towards Shivers—and the stack of lacy handkerchiefs beside him.

Ha—

Yitzfa took off the scarf he used to block the sunlight and his bad mood and then made his way over, sitting down next to him without ceremony.

Shivers was somewhat perplexed but didn’t push him away. The waiter timely came to replace the tea and, thinking he was being discreet, glanced at Yitzfa, then couldn’t help but take a couple more looks.

Yitzfa looked up at him, his cold gaze making the waiter beat a hasty retreat.

Shivers: “Why did you have to scare him?”

Yitzfa turned his face, returning to an innocent expression. “I didn’t.”

Shivers: “……”

There was really no need for such blatant lies.

This was why he was rather reluctant to deal with Yitzfa—this guy was definitely the most unpredictable, most changeable person he had ever met and hard to rationalize with ordinary logic. Shivers liked to operate according to plans. Anything that broke the rules was a headache for him.

But he didn’t show his troubles and instead took the initiative to pour Yitzfa a cup of tea.

As Shivers had expected, the local gentry’s probing of Thorn Manor wasn’t going smoothly.

The manor’s staff rejected the so-called “sister working in the manor” claim made by Yitzfa, with the steward dismissing all visitors with an almost rude demeanor, causing Mr. and Mrs. Peters significant embarrassment and exhausting Yitzfa’s patience.

The Fox family always had a backup plan, and when Yitzfa realized conventional methods were ineffective, he quickly turned his attention to Shivers, who had unexpectedly appeared here.

After their brief transaction last time, he had tried to probe the identity of this generous, mysterious client.

But no official records of their passage through Doran could be found, which meant if they weren’t smugglers from another continent, then some kingdom in Doran was likely keeping their identities hidden for undercover activities.

It was possible to trace, but that would require certain permissions and manpower, and would need to be included in the annual report. Yitzfa, who loved gossip but hated hassle, didn’t think much of it at the time and decided to treat the transaction as an insignificant episode, quickly forgetting about it.

Unexpectedly, they met again soon after in this border city.

Yitzfa had reassessed Shivers and his backing, judging that whoever they were, they were much more reliable than the local gentry represented by the Peters—he knew those who thought themselves high society but only indulged in pleasures were useless, but he didn’t expect them to be so incompetent, completely uncharismatic, not even worth passing time with.

“Cooperation?” Shivers slightly furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Take me into the manor in exchange for sharing information,” Yitzfa said bluntly. “If we can’t go through the front door, we use unconventional means.”

His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. Shivers had to lean in close to make out his words, which brought their faces uncomfortably close.

Shivers looked at him somewhat amusedly. “Why do you think I can get in?”

The manor’s defensive posture had intensified daily, and although he didn’t know what pressure Yitzfa had applied to the Peters, all viable strategies had likely been exhausted recently, which was why Yitzfa was seeking a more powerful partner.

But the Knight Commander saw no need for a partnership.

Honestly, if Shivers were to infiltrate the manor alone, he could flexibly handle any potential emergencies, but bringing along an unknown variable would be nothing but a hindrance.

“Because you’ve been inside before.” Yitzfa also smiled, the corners of his eyes curling up slightly.

This statement made Shivers’s heart skip a beat, but his face remained unchanged, feigning a timely, confused expression.

Yitzfa, nearly half-leaning on Shivers, spoke in a tone that was ambiguously flirtatious yet chillingly calm. “I know you’re waiting for the right moment. The reward for cooperation is sharing information. I might have something you’re interested in.”

Shivers’s expression remained neutral.

“The manor’s owner is coming back.” Yitzfa’s hand rested on his shoulder, his chin nearly touching him, as if certain that even in such a lazy posture, the prey would definitely take the bait. “The balance will soon be disrupted.”

“Our interests don’t conflict. Forming an alliance temporarily won’t do any harm,” he continued to entice.

“Oh, what are your interests?” Yitzfa’s recently thrown-out piece of information had momentarily distracted him, but Shivers wasn’t easily swayed, instead focusing on the core issue.

Yitzfa tilted his head to look outside the window. “That question is rather unfair. I’m not that kind of casual person.”

The implication was clear: no cooperation, no answers.

Shivers followed his gaze outside, where a sophisticated two-seater carriage was arriving across the street, slowly pulling up to the curb.

“How about it?” Yitzfa blinked.

Shivers didn’t answer right away but watched as Mr. Peters got out of the carriage and pushed open the door of the teahouse. The crisp bell rang again, and a waiter immediately stepped forward to attend to the small-mustached gentleman dressed in an elegant navy blue suit but was interrupted by a gesture from the man.

“Yitzfa, ah, good you haven’t gone far…” Mr. Peters hurried over. “Dolly is upset. She wants to talk to you in person.”

Yitzfa stood up abruptly, his large movement drawing the attention of everyone in the shop, making Mr. Peters uncomfortably clear his throat.

“I do not intend to be a burden.” His voice was clear, making the choke in his tone quite evident. “I’m not shameless, clinging to the home of my lifesaver, unwilling to leave. Your wife is a kind-hearted woman, and if my presence causes discord between you two, such a sin would disturb me day and night.”

Mr. Peters quickly interrupted him, “No! You’ve misunderstood!”

Unfortunately, it was too late. Shivers saw the waiter not far away with an “oh” expression on his face and, without looking back, knew that most of the few customers in the teahouse probably felt the same.

After all, Yitzfa’s voice was indeed quite loud.

“Please go back!” Yitzfa said with moral righteousness. “I can fend for myself. Please don’t worry about me anymore. Mr. Green—”

He turned around and, with a force that belied his slender frame, yanked up the knight who he thought was enjoying the drama.

“Has generously offered me a job just now!”

Shivers: “???”

“If you really care about me, please let me go, to give me a chance to prove that I am not a parasite to the Peters family.” His eyes, somehow filled with tears, miraculously spun in their sockets but never fell.

Mr. Peters looked both puzzled and shocked and somewhat disconcerted by the onlookers.

“No, you’ve misunderstood,” he repeated weakly. “We should talk this over…”

“I’ve already spoken with Mr. Green, who has been borrowing the landlord’s maid and needs help.” Yitzfa’s cheeks and nose were red, making his skin appear as white as snow, compelling one unconsciously to hold their breath to avoid hurting him.

Perhaps stung by the onlookers’ condemnation, Mr. Peters could only leave hurriedly after dropping a “this is a misunderstanding”.

Shivers stood there, looking down at Yitzfa, who clung to his arm, nearly hanging off him, feeling speechless.

“I ‘offered you a job’,” Shivers said. “When did we discuss this?”

Not just Mr. Peters, but Shivers, who had become the center of attention by accident, also felt uncomfortable and left two silver coins before attempting to leave.

Yitzfa stubbornly clung to him, letting Shivers drag him along. “I will work hard!”

Everyone watched as they left the shop in a strange pose. Shivers had no choice but to forcibly stand Yitzfa up. “What exactly did you do to the Peters?”

Yitzfa kept pace behind him. “It’s not what I did to him. It’s what he wanted to do to me. Unfortunately, the madame walked in on it, and it led to a big fight.”

Shivers stopped abruptly, causing Yitzfa to run into his back, truly reddening his nose this time.

“Mr. Peters forced you?” Shivers turned around, frowning at him.

Yitzfa blinked, but before he could speak, Shivers lightly pinched his cheek, examining it up and down, left and right, checking his exposed neck and hands as well. Though gentle, the motions were devoid of any flirtation, more like a doctor examining a small animal—only relaxing after confirming there were no suspicious marks.

“If I said yes, would you take me in?” Yitzfa asked.

Shivers stared at him intently, almost making Yitzfa think he was imagining a scene of himself being mistreated, when suddenly Shivers flicked his forehead. “Don’t lie indiscriminately.”

The sound was so loud that both of them were stunned.

Shivers: “…Sorry.”

He momentarily forgot Yitzfa wasn’t Shiloh, who could have taken a stronger hit.

“It’s okay. You’re the employer. I’m just a poor manservant with nowhere to go that you took in. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Stop talking about that—we’ll talk about cooperation next time.”

Yitzfa weakly covered his forehead. “Ah, my head is spinning. Maybe I was hurt by the hit just now. I need to lie down at your place to recover.”

Shivers: “……”

“Just now it was so loud. Maybe my brain was shattered? My vision seems a bit blurry.”

Shivers: “……”

He was utterly at a loss.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 87

“Beastman… No, cursed?” Sasha said, “You might be a handsome man. What a pity.”

She didn’t attempt to bypass Charlie to confront Amber directly but instead stared into Charlie’s eyes and asked, “What’s your relationship with Erica? Why is this child with you?”

“I’m a cloth merchant, occasionally collaborating with Erica’s caravan,” Charlie answered calmly, not annoyed by her aggressive demeanor and probing. “This child has been entrusted to me. You know, the nomadic life of a caravan isn’t conducive to a child’s healthy upbringing.”

“Are you close?”

“We’ve had a few dealings over the years.”

“And he entrusted the child to you?”

“Until he comes of age.”

Amber, holding several not-too-heavy boxes, looked up at Mr. Rabbit Head’s silhouette.

He wasn’t really scared, even though he knew Sasha was strong.

Because yielding to fear wasn’t an option if one wanted to survive in an underground fighting ring. From his earliest memories, everything he had learned taught him not to fear, not to retreat, not to dodge—only by facing challenges head-on with relentless courage could one find a chance to live!

But why did this man stand in front of him?

Was he strong? No, the redhead and that stern-faced man were probably stronger.

Amber was momentarily puzzled and was almost bumped into by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s retreating figure, before he snapped back to reality.

“I have no need to lie to you.” Charlie’s voice remained even. “I wouldn’t presumptuously invite a lady to my home, but if only seeing for yourself will put you at ease…”

He stepped back a few paces and turned the corner of the street, just in time to see the house they were renting.

The mercenaries at the door immediately noticed them. The two, who had been leaning casually, straightened up.

Probably because she didn’t want to cause a conflict with the mercenaries, Sasha’s gaze lingered between them for a while before she finally walked away without further fuss.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and led Amber back.

The two mercenaries had come out onto the street ready to intercept, but seeing them return, they didn’t ask questions and resumed their positions.

Most of the mercenaries were ready to depart, and Hasting was still busy handing over responsibilities to the kitchen and the steward, missing the gift-giving session.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper kept his promise, purchasing what he thought was the most suitable item for everyone: a roll of soft leather for Hasting; a large bag of hot, local caramel cream rolls topped with baked apple crisps for Shiloh; a small brass telescope for Hall; and for Amber, a fitted hunting outfit imported from abroad, unlike the traditional robes of Lababata with tightly tailored cuffs and waist, convenient for movement, complete with a wind hat and a pair of hard-soled short boots.

Amber, seeing such sophisticated clothing for the first time, clumsily fumbled with the belt until Shiloh, munching on a roll, pulled him aside to help him, accidentally tightening it too much and nearly suffocating him.

But besides these, what really made him popular were several large bags filled with handmade fireworks—in many countries, fireworks technicians were directly employed by the royal families, used only during major festivals or celebrations, with private workshops not allowed, and the splendid nature of fireworks also made them difficult to develop and circulate privately.

Lababata was one of the few countries that allowed the private development and sale of fireworks. Charlie only learned this after seeing a few fireworks stores, so he bought every type he found interesting, carrying a full armload back, nearly unable to walk.

Shiloh, delighted like a savage, whooped and pulled Amber to find Hasting and Hall to set off fireworks in the yard.

Dwight didn’t touch the pile of gifts but sat watching as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper pushed a slender box in front of him.

The exquisite leather box alone was quite valuable. The Duke watched him open the gold and green ribbon like he was presenting a treasure. “Look! An antique quill that doesn’t need dipping in ink. It can also be automatically heated in the winter and never clogs. I found it in an herb shop. Haggling took quite an effort.”

Putting aside the oddity of an herb shop selling stationery, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper indeed knew his stuff.

Although magical items were convenient, not many mages took the trouble to work on such mundane tasks, so even the Duke of Brandenburg had never seen a quill that didn’t need an ink bottle before.

Even by his critical standards, it couldn’t be said to be a bad gift.

However, Dwight neither expressed like nor dislike; instead, he just slightly turned his head to look at him.

“What happened?” he asked.

By this time, the sun had set. The light outside the windows had dimmed, and the lamps in the living room had been lit.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper leaned back in his chair, pondered for a while, and didn’t immediately answer.

He was wondering if there was something subtly different about his behavior that prompted Dwight to suddenly ask. Although he was somewhat accustomed to the other’s abruptly keen perceptiveness, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper couldn’t help but reflect on whether he was still not calm enough—the conclusion was no, he hadn’t shown any flaws, as evidenced by Amber’s still normal reaction.

It was probably due to Amber’s innate talent + extensive combat experience that made him, like a young wild animal, full of wild instincts. In many cases, they could feel that although Amber was sparing with words and expressions, he could precisely discern the subtle attitudes of adults toward him, and if it weren’t for this sense that the people in this house genuinely accepted him, the child wouldn’t have been as docile and harmless as he was now.

It was probably the same with Erica in front of him.

But today Amber hadn’t noticed anything, the only explanation being that the Duke’s ability to read the atmosphere and people’s hearts was becoming excessively sharp.

“We encountered a Lion, not yet mature, but its claws were already sharp.” Charlie decided to be frank. “I—don’t really like that family.”

This was a euphemism. Actually, after encountering Sasha, every pore in his body screamed in rejection, and Sasha and Amber wouldn’t know how much effort he had spent to control himself from turning and fleeing immediately.

This had probably become his instinct.

The Duke observed his face closely, focused like a surgeon—so long that Charlie felt slightly uncomfortable and twitched his ears.

“Are you afraid of her?” The Duke precisely used the female pronoun. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had no doubt that he had deduced that the interlocutor was indeed the girl causing Erica some trouble.

“…Perhaps,” Charlie murmured.

If someone had been whispering in your ear since you were sensible that there was a group of assassins who could ruthlessly tear you to pieces given the chance, anyone would have a psychological shadow.

Dwight didn’t quite understand Charlie’s fear. In his view, although Rabbit Head lived a disorganized, messy life, he wasn’t a weak person—on the contrary, he had a breadth of vision and survival skills many couldn’t accumulate in a lifetime, which were not much less formidable than pure physical strength.

Yet it was precisely on this point that he was paradoxically both complacent and insecure.

“Compared to talking about the Lions, you mention Erica as if she’s just a neighbor.” The Duke finally withdrew his gaze. “Give me your hand.”

Rabbit-Headed Shopkeeper: “???”

What for?

Seeing him not move, Dwight repeated somewhat impatiently, “Give me your hand—what are you afraid of?”

Charlie wasn’t sure whether this was about his fear of the Lion family or something else, but he extended his right hand, palm up, nonetheless.

He instinctively thought the Duke wanted to give him something, perhaps aniseed or mint candy?

It surely wasn’t because he admitted his fear that he was about to be punished by a slap on the palm.

His fingers were long and smooth, with few lines on his palm, and because of the forward stretch, a section of his wrist exposed blue-green veins meandering like pine branches hidden under snow in winter.

The Duke paused slightly, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t thought about Rabbit Head’s original appearance for quite a while.

Back in Pennigra, he had also secretly speculated what this man might look like, whether handsome or ugly, and why he willingly lived with a rabbit’s head so different from ordinary people, with not a hint of rejection, but as time went by and he grew accustomed, he seldom thought about it anymore. Occasionally, a thought would flash in his mind without reason, like how would such quirks as twitching his ears or bristling his fur be reconciled if he changed back, or whether a naturally serious face could coexist with occasionally slightly frivolous expressions.

Just like now.

He looked down at the wrist in front of him, suddenly thinking that the parts of Rabbit Head below the neck were quite superior. The owner of such hands likely wouldn’t have an unattractive face.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched the Duke daydreaming inexplicably. This wasn’t his illusion—the Duke had recently been drifting off mid-conversation quite frequently.

He waited patiently for a while, and seeing that the other hadn’t snapped back, he couldn’t help but wiggle his fingers.

The Duke then reached out, taking the quill from the gift box.

Actually, the lower classes now rarely used quills that weren’t durable, as glass and metal nibs could withstand long-term friction better and could also be crafted into intricate designs like carved or hollowed patterns on the pen body. And the lower classes didn’t engage in luxurious activities like writing and reading, so most quills held more value as collectibles than for writing.

Dwight himself wasn’t accustomed to using quills either, as he disliked the overly ornate feathers, which reminded him of the powder-filled, giggling court dances.

The pen Rabbit Head bought didn’t have the usual large feather. The dark feather was trimmed into a sharp shape, resembling that of a hawk or falcon, and the nib was very sharp.

So, when he lifted the pen to write on Charlie’s palm, the latter instinctively pulled back slightly, only to be held down by his wrist.

Charlie watched as the Duke bent over to write the first letter ‘D’ on his palm. Their wrists overlapped due to the writing motion, and by slowing his breathing, one could feel the other’s pulse rate.

Dwight wrote his name letter by letter, the black ink forming a line on the palm, looking like an exaggerated and bizarre palm print.

“This is the payment for 22 Paulownia Street.” The Duke’s eyelashes cast a blurred shadow in the dim room light. “Lemena will protect you—I will protect you.”

He lifted his hand, put the quill away, and looked up at Charlie, calmly saying, “You need not worry about the Lion’s claws.”

“It’s completely dark now! My Lord…” Shiloh, like a headstrong boar, barged into the living room, and seeing the Duke and Charlie turn to look at him, he belatedly stopped in his tracks.

Although neither spoke, the peculiar atmosphere made an overly excited Shiloh cautiously look around.

Was the Duke deliberating? Had he interrupted something?

But apart from formal meetings, the Duke usually didn’t discuss important matters in places like the living room.

Logically, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but an inexplicable sense of awkwardness made his toes curl uncomfortably.

It was the rabbit-headed shopkeeper who eased his discomfort. “Are we setting off fireworks?”

Shiloh blinked. “Ah, yes! Even the mercenaries are downstairs watching. Hasting said he prepared chairs and drinks on the third-floor terrace, inviting Your Lordship to go up…”

“They’ve already started.” The Duke sat in a chair by the long table, propping his head to look outside—actually, the sky wasn’t fully dark yet, and as they spoke, a red firework shot across the window glass, followed by a loud pop, bursting like a brief rain of gold foil, illuminating the side faces of everyone in the room.

Dwight, watching the spectacular fireworks following the red ones burst one after another in the night sky, said, “I won’t go up. You go down and have fun.”

You?

Shiloh felt something subtle but couldn’t quite pinpoint it, turning to see the rabbit-headed shopkeeper taking a hat from the hat rack with his left hand and inexplicably asked, “Is Mr. Charlie also going downstairs?”

“Yes.” Charlie draped an arm over the redhead’s shoulders. “Let’s go. The last night must be celebrated properly—after all, as soon as it’s light tomorrow, we’re setting off again.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 86

Amber, who was inexplicably given a name to match a pet and dismissed from the room just as mysteriously, stepped out and saw Hasting waiting for him in the corridor.

The young knight, always serious, looked at him inquiringly. Amber hesitated for a moment before fully explaining what had happened in the room.

Hearing that the Duke had given him a name, Hasting showed a rare, subtle smile.

“Come with me,” Hasting said.

Their accommodation in Lababata wasn’t luxurious, but it was spacious and clean. Amber had thought Hasting might take him to a kitchen or a stable, but instead, he led him not downstairs but to a small room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

It was only when Hasting gently pushed him into the room that Amber snapped back to reality, stepping back uncertainly.

This was the first time he had looked so bewildered that evening.

The room was decorated in typical Lababata style, not overly furnished but with vibrant handmade carpets covering the floor, several small silk pillows and blankets, a wicker cabinet, and a low table with a decorative teapot set.

“We are just staying temporarily and didn’t bring much,” Hasting explained, seeing him unmoved. “Besides the Duke, everyone’s rooms are the same.”

Amber checked carefully. “I live here?”

“This is your room,” Hasting clarified. “You’ll stay here while we are in Lababata.”

“Alone?” Amber asked again.

Hasting looked at him strangely, thinking for a moment. “Are you afraid to sleep alone?”

It seemed true that children disliked spending the night alone, but Hasting needed to be available for the Duke at all times, and Hall was inconvenient. Only Shiloh had the extra capacity.

“No.” Amber pursed his lips.

He was just surprised that the ‘Duke’ would be so generous to provide him a room of his own—a luxury he had never even dreamt of.

“That’s good then.” Hasting, though not expressive, was willing to offer extra patience to the child. “If you need anything, ask Donna in the kitchen. She’ll take care of you. Oh, and…”

He paused. “You can make friends. That’s fine, but don’t discuss our affairs with anyone beyond those you’ve met tonight, and don’t refer to the Lord as ‘Duke’ in public.”

Amber nodded, though he still didn’t understand the exact rank of a ‘Duke’.

“So the Duke, the Lord,” seeing Hasting’s expression, Amber quickly changed his wording, “is my master now? And what about Erica?”

He vividly remembered that it was Erica who handed a bag full of gold coins to that cunning pig, leading him into the sunlight of Spice Street.

“He is also Erica’s master.” Hasting, understanding Amber’s concerns, spoke soothingly. “You don’t need to worry too much now. You’ll understand in time.”

“Is he everyone’s master, including that rabbit-headed gentleman?” Because he was wearing decent new clothes and standing in such a beautiful room, Amber tried to choose his words more elegantly.

Hasting paused. “He’s… Not exactly.”

Technically, Charlie was an employee of the Duke, but their employment relationship wasn’t as clearly defined as Hasting’s servitude, which still felt somewhat foreign to the strictly straightforward knight.

Amber muttered, “I thought not.”

The very impressive-looking Duke had dismissed him with a “just go away if there’s nothing” attitude, but Mr. Rabbit Head wasn’t so obedient, and in the end, only Amber had left obediently.

Was it because they still had matters to discuss?

Amber had many more curiosities—though he had only stayed for a short while, the Duke’s room was the most elaborate and luxurious he had ever seen, filled with many mysterious things he had never heard of.

Including “Emerald”.

Was that a dragon?

Amber hadn’t dared to look too closely at the glass jar, but he had remembered the Duke’s words. Such a significant figure wouldn’t treat his promises like that fat pig who sold him—was he really going to take care of a dragon?

There couldn’t be a cooler job than that!

Hasting didn’t stay long but left a candlestick with a long, straight candle as white as snow, clearly one that would burn for a long time, before he left.

It was nothing like the black candle ends Amber had previously saved so carefully.

Wrapped in a blanket, Amber curled up in a corner of the room, watching the flickering candlelight without blinking.

Gold coins, a Duke, a dragon, and a rabbit… He wasn’t sleepy at all but felt as if he was in the middle of an extraordinary dream.

He wished this dream could last a little longer.

“That child’s parents should be dragged in a donkey cart to the town hall for a flogging.” Donna, responsible for the meals, fumed to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper early the next morning. “He seems like he’s never eaten anything—you should have seen him in the kitchen. What kind of child doesn’t recognize milk!”

Charlie used his calming voice to soothe Donna’s anger and bestowed upon her the noble task of “saving a malnourished child from dire straits”, which quieted her down.

Unaware that he was nearly at the center of a storm, Amber, having eaten his fill, had already voluntarily run to the courtyard to fetch water.

Because before Emerald awoke, his so-called duty was merely a nominal title—at this time, not just Amber, but no one was allowed near the sleeping Pluto Owl.

Who knows if such creatures would imprint on the first person they see?

Dwight wasn’t willing to take that risk.

“Didn’t you tell Amber we are leaving in two days?” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked Hasting. “Helping with the backyard reconstruction now doesn’t really matter.”

Before Hasting could respond, Shiloh came over grinning. “Let him do some work. Otherwise, he’ll worry he’s eating too much and won’t be able to pay when it’s time to settle the bill.”

Rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “What?”

The redhead shrugged. “From his looks, you can tell he hasn’t been in a good place before. Too sudden an environmental change can make him sick. Keeping him busy might actually make him feel more secure.”

Donna had exaggerated a bit. Amber was thin, but not malnourished. After all, he had survived in a physically demanding underground fighting ring and starving him into a scrawny monkey would have served no purpose.

But maintaining a diet that paid attention to more than just replenishing strength was impossible. His constant, physically focused diet not only kept him far from being strong but even affected his teeth and stomach, with many everyday foods being completely new to him. Donna’s overly enthusiastic breakfast had left him quite overwhelmed.

“One of the knights fell seriously ill after being brought to Brandenburg as a child,” Hasting explained. “He wasn’t used to it.”

“I didn’t know there were underground fighting rings in Lemena,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said.

The Duke hummed quietly from the other end of the table but didn’t look up from his morning paper.

He was getting used to the noisy mornings. Ever since leaving Brandenburg, it had been hard to maintain the quiet mornings he preferred. His new baseline was that as long as he woke up without hearing animals like donkeys and horses, it counted as a peaceful morning—a dreadful thought he dared not mention to Priscilla.

Priscilla’s caravan was departing today, and some of the personnel taken away by Lestrop had to be replaced. Erica would take this opportunity to become one of them. Her mercenaries would be transferred to Dwight, and after the integration, they too would depart for White Bridge.

Thus, there was a relatively free period for recuperation, and Charlie took the opportunity to roam through several main streets of Lababata—a feat most people would hide if they had a rabbit’s head, but he seemed to take pride in it, feeling it wasn’t enough to show off on just two continents, fearing that people wouldn’t know he was different.

He didn’t just roam by himself. He also took Amber along.

This child always considered himself mature and stable, but it was really hard to maintain such composure in front of Shiloh and Charlie, especially Charlie, who had countless stories and ideas in his head. Even the most ordinary street, through his narration, could become an adventure site. Amber had to exert great self-control not to follow him out for the entire day.

Because he needed to stay and work, Amber seriously thought.

“Don’t wiggle around like a bug in front of me,” Dwight said coldly. “If you can’t wait, go wait on the porch.”

Shiloh laughed heartily, and Amber’s face reddened slightly, feeling somewhat defiant.

Because Charlie said he would bring back many gifts—one for everyone.

He felt even the Duke was waiting.

But seizing the rare opportunity, Amber preferred to wait at the door for Charlie: he couldn’t wait to see what his first ever received gift would be.

However, when he stepped out, he found two tall mercenaries under the porch, their eye color as pale as the ice on snow-capped mountains.

The Duke’s eye color was also light, but it didn’t give the chilling feeling of being seen as a piece of raw meat to be dissected like the mercenaries did.

Amber instinctively disliked them, and the mercenaries didn’t take him seriously either, just glancing at him once before shifting their gaze away, not stopping him from going onto the street.

Charlie didn’t make him wait too long. Almost before the sun had completely set, Amber, who had excellent eyesight, spotted Charlie appearing in the distance and, just as he imagined, carrying a lot of things—the boxes stacked high, almost taller than him, with only the top of his high top hat peeking out, making one wonder how he could see the road ahead.

Charlie’s walking path seemed more chaotic than a clown walking a tightrope on a unicycle—a long box on top wobbled dangerously before being quickly steadied.

He peeked out from the side. “Thank you… Oh, it’s you, Amber.”

Amber took the top few boxes, accompanying him slowly across the street. “You look very happy.”

Charlie carefully observed the path beneath his feet through the gaps in the boxes. “Do I look happy?”

The black-haired boy nodded.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stopped speaking, his ears suddenly twitching.

Unaware but stopping quicker than him, Amber felt something was off and sprang a big step toward the street, his action only slightly quicker than Charlie’s hand pushing him.

A few inches from Charlie’s hand was another hand, with slender fingertips and several beautiful bracelets strung on the wrist.

Although it didn’t successfully grab Amber’s collar, the owner of the hand didn’t immediately make another move but ignored the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and turned to look at Amber, who was tightly holding the boxes.

“I’ve found you.” Sasha, whose skin had darkened a bit compared to that day in the underground fighting ring, flashed an aggressive smile.

“Where’s Erica?” The much taller girl looked down at Amber.

Amber watched her warily but remained silent.

He actually knew the answer to this question—no one had specifically hidden it from him in conversation, so he knew that Erica should have already joined some noble’s entourage and left the capital of Lababata.

But even though Erica hadn’t specifically asked him to keep her whereabouts a secret, he had no intention of answering every question from this persistently pursuing woman.

Seeing him not answering, Sasha stepped forward impatiently and reached for Amber’s shoulder, but someone intercepted her halfway.

Charlie, still awkwardly holding a large pile of items and really unable to free his hands, simply placed himself and the load between the girl and the boy, completely blocking Amber.

“Is there something you need with this child, Miss?” he asked politely.

Hearing Charlie speak, Sasha took a few more interested glances at him, her gaze lingering a bit on his well-fitted waist and legs. Then she widened her eyes and stared intently at his head, as if trying to see through the fur to check if there was a human head hidden inside.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 85

“So?” Shiloh crossed his arms, looking down at the boy standing in front of him.

The boy appeared no older than 12, with messy black hair half-covering his eyes, only revealing the lower half of his face marked with scabs and bruises. The corners of his mouth and the curve of his jaw were stubborn and defiant.

“So, this kid is coming with us,” said the rabbit-headed shopkeeper gently. “Because Erica has other work.”

Shiloh walked around the boy, pretending not to notice his slightly stiffened spine. “What’s your name?”

The boy remained silent.

“It seems he has no name and cannot speak.” Shiloh nodded. “A kid with an unknown background like this, just let him stay in the kitchen then. We’ve been short-staffed there lately.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked, about to say something, but Hasting stopped him with a look, and he held back.

Shiloh casually reached out to pull the boy’s arm. “I’ll take you to meet Aunt Bobo. Her potato soup is truly amazing. I hope you learn quickly—”

He cut himself off mid-sentence as he quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of silver whizzing past his side, almost too fast to see.

The red-haired young knight stepped back only half a step, turned to dodge the light, and instinctively blocked the boy’s right hand. Despite the age and size difference causing the boy some instability, Shiloh didn’t give him a chance to stagger. Before the boy could raise his hand to block, Shiloh had already grabbed him by the neck. The choke hold caused the boy’s eyes to bulge and veins to pop.

Hasting and Charlie, the other two adult men in the room, made no move, watching as Shiloh pressed the boy to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Hasting glanced at the boy’s right hand, which was still unwilling to let go of the dagger despite turning blue from lack of breath and shook his head.

Shiloh slightly loosened his grip to let air into the boy’s nostrils, but he didn’t let him go.

The boy gasped for air like a drowning fish, and after a while, he managed to say a few words in broken common language.

“Not… kitchen.”

Shiloh leaned in close (putting the weight back on) and said smilingly, “Hmm?”

“I want to see the Lord.” The boy’s voice rasped harshly, still gruff. “Erica… said so.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper squatted down. “That Lord is very important to Erica, and it’s not polite to meet him with weapons.”

The boy gasped a few more times before slowly letting go.

The sharpened dagger clattered to the ground.

Only then did Shiloh release him.

“I’ll ask you again. What’s your name?” he said.

The round-faced, round-eyed Shiloh looked surprisingly intimidating at this moment—nothing like the youth who got scolded by Erica and jostled with Eugene.

Hasting seemed accustomed to Shiloh’s demeanor and hadn’t intervened from the start.

“No name. If the Lord wants me, then I have a name,” the boy said as he got up from the ground, not sparing another glance at the dagger.

His speech was halting, but everyone understood.

The boy might have had a name in the past, but the moment he left, that name stayed behind.

And whatever way Erica acquired this boy, the disposal rights lay with the Duke, and only a name given by Duke Dwight would remain with him.

Shiloh snorted through his nose, remaining silent.

“Alright, no need for such tension,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently. “This is Shiloh, behind is Hasting, and I’m Charlie. If you want to meet that Lord, you can’t go looking like this.”

“I will become stronger,” the boy said stubbornly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper struggled to suppress a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Erica might have left in a hurry and not had the chance to tell you, but to meet that Lord, you need to change your clothes first.”

Dressed in a traditional gray hemp robe from Lababata, the boy looked bewildered.

In the end, it took Charlie and Hasting some effort to convince him that Erica hadn’t sent him to be a hitman for some Lord—he was just too young.

Confused and resentful, the boy soon realized that all the men in the house were quite skilled. Accustomed from a young age to environments where fists determined authority, he became somewhat cooperative, though hardly compliant.

Erica had clearly had him cleaned up well, but his messy hair, slight frame, and colorful bruises still made him look somewhat disheveled.

“Our master is of noble status,” Hasting said. “Didn’t Erica mention this to you?”

The boy remained silent.

Erica was strong, much stronger than the fat pig who had treated him like a fighting dog, and that was the main reason he had followed her without resistance.

No matter the reason she had bought him, it didn’t matter; he could fight and was constantly improving. If it was with Erica, he believed he could become even stronger.

But Erica had said someone else had bought him, a noble of high status… In his view, nobles were mostly fat-brained, pleasure-seeking wretches. This arrangement didn’t sit well with him.

Yet, surprisingly, the subordinates of that high-status individual were also very strong. He hadn’t received proper education, but bowing his head under such a disparity in power wasn’t shameful—staying alive was most important.

These strange men told him he wasn’t qualified to meet Erica’s master, and the boy thought they were concerned about his height or that he was too skinny and couldn’t beat the red-haired boy…

It turned out it was because his clothes weren’t decent enough.

Such rules were indeed very noble.

Yet, he was also curious about what kind of person could command such loyalty from Erica and that absurdly strong red-haired boy.

He sat silently on a stool with a large cloth tied around his neck, and every time the sharp scissors clicked near his neck, he had to control his instinct to jump up.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was quite skilled at cutting hair. Shiloh, resting his chin in his hand, watched in amazement as, in less than half an hour, the boy’s tangled hair was neatly trimmed short, revealing a swollen and misshapen face.

It was only after Charlie had cut his hair short that he realized the boy’s injuries were more severe than he had thought (he forcibly pinched the cheeks to check inside the mouth. Fortunately, the teeth were intact, and there were no major issues with the facial bones).

Erica had given the Duke a detailed report on the boy’s background, but neither Shiloh nor Charlie had seen her letter. Just from seeing where the bruises were concentrated and his stubbornness in not letting go of the weapon, they could roughly guess what kind of life he had lived before.

Especially Shiloh. Although Shivers never let him near the underground arenas because of his young age, he knew from other teammates and Erica that occasionally they rescued minors from those places.

But most of those brought out from there had suffered irreversible damage, whether physically or mentally, and most ended up being sent to the countryside to live ordinary lives after recovering.

Thus, after a certain active Brandenburg knight, this was the first time a child had been brought before them.

So Shiloh was no longer angry about his unreasonable attitude, tilting his head as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper magically produce a suit of clothes in the right size and tell him to change.

“Swollen like that,” Shiloh sighed maturely. The Duke might not want to see him.

Injuries on duty were not a big deal. The Brandenburg Knights’ compensation and welfare were always very good.

But if it was swelling from a routine sparring (brawl), the Duke truly would refuse close contact on the pretext of injuring his eyes.

The clock had just struck nine when Hasting came downstairs.

“My Lord is upstairs,” he told the boy, now spruced up.

The boy, originally not nervous, became restrained after half an hour under the worried (?) gazes of the red-haired and rabbit-headed men, and because he had just been beaten by the red-haired man, he turned to look at the Rabbit Head.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. He…”

He paused for half a second, realizing that, eloquent as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to lie outright; that the grumpy Duke was very approachable, so he looked at Shiloh.

Shiloh immediately made himself scarce—joking aside, he certainly didn’t want to accompany him to see the Duke. Who would seek out a boss, especially one known for a bad temper, without good reason!

Hasting kept a stern face. “Sixteen minutes left.”

It was almost the Duke’s bedtime.

Charlie sighed internally.

He and Duke Dwight were still in an odd state of cold war, admittedly initiated by himself, but the Duke wasn’t one to take it lying down either, responding with an even tougher attitude as soon as he realized, which was utterly childish.

So, for now, apart from official matters, the two of them still ignore each other.

“Let’s go,” he said again to the boy, still looking confused. “It’s okay.”

Hearing a knock at the door, Dwight casually tossed a light-colored velvet cloth onto the back of a nearby chair, lifting one leg to admire the large glass jar that had been covered by the cloth.

This size of cone-shaped glass jar with an open top was quite rare, not to mention the delicate patterns on it. For personal preference, the lid was even inlaid with a green gem that resembled deep mountain amber.

Inside it soaked his Pluto Owl.

This guy, after absorbing a certain amount of alcohol, no longer swelled, but neither did it wake up. He could only continue to soak it in high-purity alcohol and observe it every day.

He could swear on the Dwight family’s honor that he had seen the stomach under its wings faintly rise and fall several times! But it just wouldn’t open its eyes.

The door was knocked on again.

“Come in,” he said with a tone of slight impatience, glancing at the boy led by the rabbit-headed shopkeeper who entered the door.

The Duke’s gaze still rested on the glass jar silently.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched him coldly, also remaining silent for a while.

The black-haired boy, standing on an unbelievably soft carpet, found himself caught in a strange atmosphere, unsure if he should be the first to speak.

Mainly because his voice sounded terribly unpleasant now, he’d rather not speak unless necessary…

He looked again at the always gentle rabbit-headed man, feeling an extremely subtle sense of dependence that he himself hadn’t noticed.

Charlie was particularly adept at catching such subtle emotions that were easily overlooked, no matter who the subject was.

He sighed in his heart again.

“This is the boy Erica mentioned, Your Grace.” He finally spoke first.

If it were in the past, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would have found a seat and checked for snacks as soon as he entered the door, without waiting for someone else to prompt him.

But if there was a child waiting to be summoned by the Duke, he couldn’t just look after himself.

Seeing Rabbit Head (forced by the situation) take the initiative to speak and standing properly in front of him for a change, Dwight’s mood finally improved. He lifted his lashes in a gesture of lowering his dignity and glanced at the boy standing there.

Erica had told him that this was a boy whose combat experience didn’t match his age and that he had potential. Even the little girl from the Lion family wanted him.

Dwight didn’t collect combat geniuses as a hobby. Honestly, even without mentioning the Brandenburg Knights, the current reserves alone were quite plentiful. What pleased him more was the behavior of Erica snatching the person from the claws of a Lion, and then Rabbit Head lowering his head first. The Duke of Brandenburg felt that he could definitely sleep well tonight.

Thus, he was also willing to view the boy with a more forgiving attitude.

“How old?” he asked leisurely.

The boy was silent for a while.

For some reason, this Lord called “Your Grace” gave him an invisible pressure, making him feel that even raising his head to look directly at him without permission was unreasonable. He could only instinctively keep his head lowered.

“13 years old,” he said quietly.

If it were Erica or the redhead asking him, he would definitely say 15 years old, since he wasn’t sure of his age anyway.

“Lift your head,” Dwight said again.

The boy raised his head.

With his overgrown hair cut off, the painfully swollen face was completely visible, but the good-natured Duke didn’t mind these details.

He was interestedly observing the boy’s red eyes, a rare color combination.

Black hair and red eyes—an image many scriptures would choose to describe a demon.

Charlie paused for a moment, stepped forward half a step, and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, determined to leave if the guy casually said something nonsense like “Then your name will be Lucifer.”

Dwight gave him a provocative look.

“From now on, you will be called ‘Amber’,” he said slowly. “Once Emerald opens its eyes, you will be responsible for taking care of it. It matches well.”

Before the boy could respond, the rabbit-headed manager frowned and asked, “Excuse me, who is Emerald?”

He didn’t know there was someone named Emerald in this house.

The Duke gestured with his chin, and both the boy and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at the large glass jar. The Pluto Owl, now quite plump, quietly floated in the golden liquid.

---

The author has something to say:

About Amber.

Charlie: Although Amber sounds like a girl’s name, it’s okay. I was worried you’d choose something like Lucifer…

Dwight: Lucifer? Seems fitting. Maybe I should change it then.

Charlie: Let’s pretend I never said that.

About Emerald.

Charlie: How can you be so sure that the dragon-like creature’s eyes are green? Folk sculptures and picture books come in all colors.

Dwight: I checked by lifting its eyelids. (as a matter of course)

Charlie: Let’s pretend you never said that.

---

Kinky Thoughts:

There’s an underlying relation in the names of the wyvern (Pluto Owl) and Amber. The term used for Pluto is (冥王), referring to the king of the underworld. Pluto is also another name for Hades.

Likewise, Lucifer is the king of hell, making the relationship between the two names quite apt.

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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 84

The Duke and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t share the specific details of their conversation with everyone, but only the main central idea: Lestrop is a madman filled with unrealistic fantasies, not only wanting to overthrow the current Mokwen royal family but also delusionally aiming to control the continent through a cult.

Almost everyone found the so-called Holy Grail legend unbelievable. They believed in an omnipotent god but didn’t believe someone could create one.

And regardless of the means used to overthrow a regime, war and bloodshed were inevitable. Constantine had unified Pennigra several hundred years ago, only after enduring long years of war and sacrifices to achieve today’s stability. Even merely reading about that period in history books invariably evoked sighs about the past.

And Doran—a weak empire—had long struggled to control the continent, with several powerful nations watching eagerly, just waiting for the moment to collectively strike. This was probably also why the royal family, represented by Mokwen, sought to harness the power of the Holy Grail.

But even if the Holy Grail they believed in truly possessed the power to rule continents, those currently in power would certainly not sit idly by. Once war spread, there would be no sanctuary left in the world.

“I used to think that the decline of the Black Gold families in Pennigra was due to the increasingly stringent imperial decrees… but it seems we were the ones who were deceived,” the Duke said coldly. “They haven’t headed towards gradual extinction but instead have collectively shifted their focus to Doran.”

Doran had always been a haven for the disorderly, with even the numbers of witches and unregistered mages surpassing those in Pennigra, not to mention the Black Gold Families, which straddled the gray areas of legality.

Long before the Duke was born, the major families were relatively dispersed.

The Foxes rose in the eastern parts of Pennigra, their influence spreading the widest. It’s said that their traces could be found not only on the continents isolated for nearly two centuries by the poisonous miasma but also in the main maritime routes, islands, and the mysterious Far East. The Lions were entrenched deep in the mountains at the border of Pennigra and Doran. Apart from roaming mercenary groups, most of their well-known senior members kept a low profile and were hard to find. Only the Wolf and Monkey families had always been co-dependent in Doran’s lawless White Bridge yet constantly undercut each other—compared to the omnipresent Foxes and Lions that always accompanied chaos and riots, they were more like two alluring carnivorous plants that entice crowds and wealth to gather around them.

It was supposed to be like this.

Years of peace and complacency had led the Constantine Empire to loosen its vigilance. If not for Dwight personally infiltrating Doran, he probably wouldn’t have realized so vividly that the focus of these families had long shifted.

“I’m afraid the Fox family probably knew about it long ago,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper added. “As early as when I was in Syriacochi, Yitzfa was vague about Tifa’s illogical affairs, and now he has personally appeared near Thorn Manor. I’m willing to believe that in the matter of the Holy Grail, the Foxes know the most or have gone the furthest.”

“Shivers will keep an eye on Yitzfa, but it’s very likely that he’s just a front for the Foxes,” the Duke said, eyes downcast, staring at a gold-rimmed porcelain dinner plate on the table as if admiring the pattern on it. “Cici once mentioned offhandedly that there’s another Fox in Doran.”

Eugene: “??? Is there?”

He only remembered that Cici taught him and Columbus two folk songs with somewhat improper lyrics, which Shivers, who overheard, banned from being hummed.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper suddenly realized and said, “His sister, Anna.”

Cici had said because of an ancient family contract, he couldn’t participate in serious matters, so he couldn’t appear before ‘Anna’—by this deduction, the Fox family’s main base is in Pennigra, yet important members deal with matters far in Doran, thus Cici couldn’t step into Doran.

The representative of the next generation of the family’s active force being ordered to stay in Pennigra suggested that whatever they were handling in Doran was likely quite dangerous.

But since entering Doran, whether through direct contact or indirect inquiries, the representative of the Foxes had always been Yitzfa, while “Anna”, mentioned more than once by Cici, hadn’t been seen.

The Duke and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper both had remarkable memories, and due to certain reasons, they had listened attentively to every word said by the young Cici they briefly encountered a few months ago.

When the naïve Columbus and Eugene, not wanting to part with their new friend, presumptuously invited him to join them on the road, Cici had accidentally mentioned his strict and competent sister ‘Anna’ and, compared to his promiscuous brother (most possibly Yitzfa), Cici was more cautious about Anna, indicating that Anna’s person or her tasks in Doran had a higher level of secrecy.

Now, it seemed that behind the carefree wandering Yitzfa, there might be another family member with higher authority.

“Hasting, write to Shivers. Tell him Lestrop is on his way to that manor, and also try to find out as much as possible about Anna—” he paused, then dismissed the idea. “No, Yitzfa isn’t the fool Cici is. Rash probing would immediately send the fox back into its den.”

The Duke had a bit of a headache.

Erica had two knights, but Priscilla insisted on going to White Bridge, and Rabbit Head needed to go there to rescue the astrologer, while Shivers alone at the manor had limited power—having their forces scattered outside their own sphere of influence was quite dangerous, but reality was that they were needed everywhere, and for the first time in his life, the Duke of Brandenburg felt stretched thin.

“Espionage isn’t about brawling. It’s not the more, the better, and indeed, grown Foxes are as cunning as foxes. If you’re not careful enough, you’ll easily scare them off.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper thought for a moment. “Miss Priscilla has the Earl’s guards, so basic safety is guaranteed, and if reinforcement is needed, Miss Erica is quite suitable.”

He spoke somewhat implicitly. In fact, if just for safety, Priscilla with the Earl’s convoy entering White Bridge wouldn’t encounter any danger. Even if she was attacked in Lababata territory, it was the guards that enabled her escape.

The Countess being frightened was more of a pretext, used to give Tifa time to notice Lestrop’s secret return.

At the same time, once the brothers turn against each other, Priscilla staying in the country would actually be dangerous. At this time, staying in White Bridge, where royal authority couldn’t be exercised, she and her child would be safer.

Lestrop had this consideration. Priscilla was going with the flow, playing the role of a wise wife worried for her husband, pretending to be ignorant of the rising smoke of war within the country.

Not to mention, the siblings’ destination was the same. The distance between the two groups would naturally be kept within a range where they could assist each other at any time. The reinforcement the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mentioned was mainly targeted at Priscilla’s ambitious plans.

Erica was trustworthy, cautious, and decisive—there was no better candidate.

The Duke nodded but still didn’t look at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

Everyone had to pretend not to notice the odd behavior of the two, who persisted in not looking at each other while continuously talking.

“Erica and the Brandenburg Knights accompanying her will join Priscilla in the Earl’s convoy,” the Duke said. “Eugene will go to support Shivers, but he shouldn’t show himself just yet.”

Eugene perked up.

The Duke’s arrangement actually followed a pattern. Whether it was because of being washed away in the river or at Syriacochi, Eugene’s coordination with Shivers had been quite good.

Admittedly, Eugene couldn’t yet mingle effortlessly in the perfumed high society like Shivers, but he could blend into various middle- and lower-class settings like a shadow, finding the most suitable path in the shortest time among all walks of life.

With him in support, should Shivers’ actions fail, and his identity be exposed, Eugene would be the best person to help him hide and escape.

The former thief, who once competed with livestock for straw bedding, never imagined he could stand on his own—he didn’t even consider traversing the kingdom alone through unfamiliar cities a particularly difficult task.

A year ago, he couldn’t have imagined daring to accept such a mission. This newfound confidence felt both foreign and exhilarating, making him itch to mount a horse and leave the city immediately!

However, it was Charlie who held back the enthusiastic Eugene. Leaving the city overnight wasn’t out of the question, but proper preparations were essential.

The Duke was always generous, giving him a map, enough travel money, and a sturdy mule (not that he was reluctant to give a horse, but a lone traveler on a fine horse could easily become a target for thieves and bandits). Shiloh gave him a sharp short sword as long as a forearm, neatly encased in a fine leather sheath, which sat securely at his waist.

Hasting gave him a pouch of tobacco to ease the journey, and even Hall gave him a waterproof fire kit.

Finally, Charlie gave him a small bag containing several gadgets that didn’t require magic to use but were handy for escaping: a few round fireworks-like items that could emit an intensely irritating thick smoke when ignited and a small bottle of invisibility potion, which didn’t truly conceal one’s form but could erase the scent of being “alive” and suppress external body heat, effectively making one seem no more than a rock or plant, which was highly effective against biological and magical tracking.

“Don’t use these items in front of mages,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper advised him.

“Why?” Eugene asked curiously.

“Because these items are essentially magical creations,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper explained gently. “Though they don’t restrict the user, the style of the formulas used in their creation is traceable. If a mage has any overlap with the creator, they can easily identify the maker’s identity… Did I forget to tell you that I have a rival on the Doran continent?”

Eugene had almost forgotten about Witch Elena.

“Elena was expelled by the Mage Association, but I believe she still has contacts with white mage. After all, she wasn’t born a witch. I’m not sure if her hatred for me outweighs her rationality after all these years, but it’s always better to be cautious. If she finds out you’re using my items, she might redirect her anger towards you.”

“Oh, that would actually be convenient,” Eugene said, patting the short sword at his waist, speaking gruffly. “If she comes looking for me, it saves me the trouble of finding her—what she did to my friend has already filled me with rage. Given the chance, I’ll make sure she regrets it.”

Without a second thought, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper slapped him on the head. “Don’t do anything stupid. Elena, when riled up, could take on half a mercenary troop on her own.”

He couldn’t help but laugh then, his round eyes crinkling. “The trouble between her and me will have to be resolved sooner or later. If I can’t beat her, I’ll ask friends to help at that time.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 83

Priscilla had a somewhat weak constitution, but overall, she was still healthy and had become pregnant once, two years after getting married.

At that time, she had just begun to suspect the relationship between Lestrop and Christine, and out of concern for the future status of her offspring, she quickly decided to thoroughly investigate the matter. However, Mokwen wasn’t Lemena. Priscilla had limited personnel at her disposal, so she started by looking into Lestrop’s whereabouts.

Ironically, Priscilla had shown considerable trust in Lestrop up until then, so he hadn’t really taken any precautions against her.

Even though he knew that his premarital scandals would eventually reach his wife’s ears, which nobleman didn’t have a bit of scandalous news?

Priscilla’s upbringing was nothing if not traditional. As long as he behaved well after marriage, she wouldn’t confront him without evidence—moreover, in the years they were married, Priscilla had excelled in her role as the Countess: diligent, gentle, reserved, and generous. At that time, her every word and deed were almost the standard template for the entire Mokwen nobility.

“I originally thought that manor was their secret rendezvous spot. Thorn Manor was a property left to Lestrop by his mother, a bit far from the capital and secluded, perfect for avoiding prying eyes.”

“I didn’t rush in to investigate directly, but instead sent a maid named Claire to infiltrate the place. She was ordinary-looking but very loyal to me. It took two months before she first sent me information from the manor, saying she didn’t know what was going on there but that it felt very frightening.”

Recalling the past, Priscilla’s demeanor was quite calm, but this very calmness made one inevitably speculate about the internal turmoil she must have experienced at the time.

After realizing that it wasn’t an ordinary manor used by nobles for pleasure, Priscilla had Claire ingest a mildly toxic herb to cause red patches to appear on her face, pretending she had contracted a difficult contagious disease to extricate herself.

But to their surprise, even though she appeared to have a contagious disease, the manor didn’t release her; instead, they took her to the woods and buried her alive when she was feverish and unconscious—fortunately, Priscilla had been keeping an eye on the situation and immediately had her dug out and treated.

The maid, once recovered, told her everything: the Earl occasionally came, but the Queen had never visited that manor.

She wasn’t qualified to work in the main house, but even from the laundry room, she could observe several pregnant women in the manor, all restricted in their freedom, almost like livestock kept only for breeding.

But what was even more bizarre was that whenever a child was born, all the servants would whisper among themselves, gauging from their master’s expression “whether this time was successful”.

Some of the children died soon after birth along with their mothers, while those who were healthy were secretly sent away from the manor, and no one knew where they went. One thing was certain: The manor didn’t need them.

This contradictory behavior left Priscilla deeply troubled, and it was the first time she realized that the side of her husband, unknown to others, might be much more dangerous than she had anticipated.

“After all, Mokwen isn’t Lemena. I don’t have much time or manpower at my disposal, and being too obvious could easily be noticed. It was at that time that I met someone.”

“’Ceylon’?” Dwight said.

He had always remembered this name, and only now had he finally asked it out loud.

Priscilla didn’t hide it from her brother, and she nodded.

“After Claire was buried alive, it wasn’t just me who wanted to dig her out immediately, but also Ceylon, who had been secretly waiting. At that time, we both thought the other was a trap set by the manor, and a conflict ensued, but in the end, it was Ceylon who told me about the tricks Lestrop was playing in the manor.”

The young Countess’ face was gentle, yet her tone was very cold. “If it weren’t for Christine, I could deceive myself into believing he had some boundaries, that he wouldn’t use his own progeny to fulfill those mad desires. But the thought that they were determined to usurp Tifa’s throne through Christine, I dared not bet on this.”

Dwight’s face was colder than her tone, but he reached out and took Priscilla’s hand, which was resting on her lap.

She didn’t spell it out, but everyone present understood.

Unable to be sure whether Lestrop considered his wife as another experiment, Priscilla herself had given up her first child.

Priscilla looked at her brother. “Am I a bad woman?”

Perhaps it was the first time in years she had opened up to a family member, and despite thinking she was strong enough, her voice still trembled.

She had always dared not ask herself this question—if there was anyone in the world who could let her confront the past few years of her life and confront the fact that she was a mother who had willingly given up her child… it was only her brother, Dwight.

“Of course not.” Dwight held her hand tightly, suppressing a great anger. “Lestrop isn’t to be trusted. You’re a smart girl. You made the right judgment.”

“I will never question you, Priscilla.” He raised his hand to tuck a strand of light golden hair behind her ear. “So please don’t question yourself either.”

Priscilla wanted to smile, but in the end, she could only weakly tug at the corners of her mouth.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had been standing aside with his arms crossed, keeping his presence to a minimum—given Priscilla’s character of enduring her situation silently for years, it was unlikely she would open up to a stranger she had just met unless she completely trusted her brother, and therefore trusted the people her brother brought with him in such a time.

Their relationship was indeed worth the Duke crossing the continent for a premonition.

Charlie had no intention of interrupting the siblings; he had his own worries.

Like the Duke, he hadn’t forgotten the name “Ceylon” that Priscilla had blurted out looking at his face in the palace of Mokwen.

He sighed inwardly with worry.

Although he didn’t know anyone named Ceylon, he had known someone who shared his face for over twenty years.

After all, that was his brother from the same mother.

Charlie himself couldn’t remember how many years it had been since he had heard from this brother.

While he was glad to know he was alive, the thought of his brother being involved with someone like the Countess and investigating Lestrop’s manor made his teeth sour.

He was internally debating whether to try to find out more about “Ceylon” when he was brought back to reality by a slightly raised argument between the Duke and Priscilla.

“It’s truly safe to go back now. I can protect you,” Dwight said patiently. “The astrologer’s predictions apply to Lestrop, but there’s another person, I suspect—”

His gaze fell on Priscilla’s noticeably pregnant belly.

“This isn’t Lestrop’s child,” Priscilla said decisively.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Like Dwight, Priscilla also thought it ridiculous to pursue power in such an inhumane way because of a legend.

Still single, Dwight paused for two seconds before resolutely abandoning the question of which boyfriend his sister had found. Honestly, even as relatives, they didn’t actively inquire into each other’s romantic lives.

It was somewhat awkward.

Priscilla, of course, knew what her brother was thinking and finally laughed. “You don’t need to worry about me. Lestrop doesn’t know any of this. I know you’ve grown up but asking me to go back to Lemena and pretend none of this deception happened, I can’t do that.”

She said softly, “I am a Dwight as well.”

The Duke remained silent.

Although Priscilla was very gentle, she had been stubborn since childhood, and once she made up her mind about something, she rarely changed it.

It was the same when she stubbornly decided to marry far away.

“What do you plan to do?” he asked.

Priscilla knew that his question didn’t mean Dwight was compromising on her decision, but rather he was planning to adjust his plans based on her answer. Stubbornness was a hereditary trait in the Dwight family.

“I want to go to White Bridge,” Priscilla said. “I’ve received a letter from home. Something has happened at Thorn Manor, and he must go back personally. I’ve always acted very sensibly, and to some extent, Lestrop trusts me… I’ll take the initiative to suggest that if he can’t make it, I can meet with the ‘astrologer’ on his behalf.”

That was why the oddity of an Earl leaving his pregnant wife to return to his country alone had occurred.

Dwight and Charlie raised their eyebrows upon hearing this.

“In the Holy Grail project, neither Lestrop nor Tifa are having much success. I guess he needs a new direction, and probably only the astrologer’s prophecy can achieve that.” Priscilla’s mood had gradually calmed down, returning to that of the composed Countess. “The astrologer is a valuable asset worth the nation’s effort to secure. Lestrop’s hope of securing him is unrealistic. This is a fallback strategy.”

“Do you also want to meet the astrologer?” The Duke didn’t bring up the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s relationship to the astrologer.

Priscilla shook her head.

“I don’t like to rely too much on mystical forces that are beyond my control,” she said proudly. “My own abilities are always the most reliable. I’m going to White Bridge because the father of my child is there.”

Dwight frowned slightly, suddenly a bit reluctant to hear what his sister was about to say.

“We need to meet. He has the right to know about the child—then we can discuss the child’s custody,” Priscilla continued, unperturbed by her brother’s expression.

Dwight was silent for a couple of seconds again.

“Custody?” he asked discontentedly. “What do you mean? Aren’t you planning to marry?”

He realized after speaking that his sister was still the Countess and faltered.

Priscilla gave him a peculiar look. “Of course not. He’s not a suitable marriage partner. If he wants the child, we can co-parent—or perhaps let him parent temporarily. The conflict between Lestrop and Tifa is escalating daily, and I judge that the day when they decide the victor isn’t far off. At that time, I may not have the energy to care for a young child.”

She didn’t say it outright, but the implied intent to seize power still made the rabbit-headed shopkeeper involuntarily whistle, and Dwight glared at him.

“That child is also a Dwight. If you have things to handle, I can take care of him,” Dwight said reluctantly.

“If he doesn’t want the child, then you can take the child back to Lemena. It’s safer there. After I’m ready, I’ll bring him back,” Priscilla decisively said.

Dwight’s expression was somewhat indescribable.

Of course, he didn’t oppose his sister kicking Lestrop out of the Earl’s seat or even higher, but her tone that men only hinder her still shocked him a bit.

It was very unlike the Duke’s daughter, who used to sit in the conservatory writing poetry.

He even somewhat suspected that he also fell into the category of “men who hinder”, except in her eyes he was always just her little brother, moved beyond measure because he had traveled so far to protect her, so she hadn’t shown it.

“If it’s just to inform, I can do it for you,” the Duke finally said. “Since you’re not planning to continue with him, there’s no need to travel while you’re like this.”

Noblewomen and laborers had very different physiques due to varying amounts of physical activity, and Priscilla, being pregnant, shouldn’t be traveling in any case.

Priscilla smiled happily.

“Silly boy, I’m going because I want to see him.” She gently patted Dwight’s hand. “It sounds contradictory, but you’ll understand later.”

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