Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 82

The news of the attack on Earl Lestrop spread like the wind back to the Kingdom of Mokwen. By the time King Tifa dispatched a cavalry unit to support them, Dwight and his party had already hastened to the Kingdom of Lababata, where they were stationed.

However, by the time Dwight received Erica’s report, the incident had already concluded.

Although Lababata was relatively wealthy, it lacked sufficient military strength. The capital was perennially guarded by several neighboring great powers, ostensibly for protection, but everyone knew this was merely a temporary measure because the Lions couldn’t yet determine who owned this piece of fat.

Mokwen did have a small force stationed there, but their response was quite sluggish. They barely arrived at the city walls to greet the Earl after his escape, and there were even rumors that the Countess was so frightened by the attack that she fell ill, causing Lestrop to fly into a rage.

Since the convoy had entered Lababata territory, the local royalty arranged for a prince to house them in his private palace. Over the next few days, all the famous doctors from the capital came and went like a flowing stream, and cart after cart of precious medicinal materials was brought in.

It was hard to say whether Tifa was truly intent on rescuing his brother, as by the time the cavalry arrived belatedly, the Countess’ condition had already stabilized.

Earl Lestrop had some reservations about this, most notably demonstrated by his refusal to let the cavalry enter the royal city, instead housing them at the military outpost.

This action led to much speculation—preferring the protection of the Lababata prince over his own kingdom’s cavalry was tantamount to declaring to the world that he didn’t trust his own brother, the current King of Mokwen.

At least in the Duke’s view, this was an open rupture between the two brothers.

Erica quickly re-established contact with Priscilla and got more inside information from her.

Many were unaware that Count Lestrop had secretly left Lababata, not continuing towards White Bridge, but rushing back to Mokwen.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Eugene didn’t understand. “What kind of man leaves his sick wife and goes home by himself? And sneaking around at that…”

He and Shiloh were squatting on a low wall, eating sweet melons, and spitting seeds onto the ground below.

“What do you know? Maybe the people who attacked them came from Mokwen, and he’s heading back to catch them off guard and get his revenge.” Shiloh finished the last bite of melon flesh. “Miss Priscilla is fine. Erica said so. But the Lord hasn’t come back yet. I’m worried.”

Eugene, carefree as ever, said, “What could possibly happen to those two. They can even enter the palace—ow!”

Before he could finish, Shiloh slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him to the ground.

“Keep it down,” the redhead hissed. “If someone hears us…”

“They’re far away.” Though saying so, Eugene still lowered his voice. “I asked around. Every night, two of them stand guard at the door.”

Shiloh looked worriedly at Eugene. He wasn’t concerned about the simple-minded, strong-bodied mercenaries. He was worried about the elusive Hall. If that guy caught them gossiping about the Duke, they’d surely be punished.

But he still wanted to gossip.

“They’re really weird.” Shiloh’s voice was even quieter. “Not talking to each other but still acting together—it’s so awkward. They should have taken me instead.”

Is this what the complicated adult world is like?

So hard to understand.

Eugene understood, but he still bore the shadow of having been thrashed by the Duke. Instinctively, knowing the Duke wouldn’t appreciate him blabbing about such matters, he changed the subject. “Because the shopkeeper has lots of amazing stuff, more useful than you.”

“What could be more useful than me?” Shiloh immediately bristled.

“I don’t know how many things he has hidden on him… but tonight he probably brought the hypnotic harmonica he just made.” Eugene scratched his face, flicking off a mosquito nonchalantly. “He said the music box in the last flying box inspired him, so he made a little hypnotic gadget. He tested it on me—I’m telling you, I fell asleep before I could even make out the song. Didn’t wake up until dinner.”

Eugene hadn’t seen many real mages. Although the rabbit-headed shopkeeper always claimed he was just using some basic magic to be clever, Eugene felt that no mage could be more ingenious than the shopkeeper, who never used common spells like fireball or ice spear. The shopkeeper’s endless supply of little gadgets always perfectly accomplished tasks according to his plans, proof enough of his abilities.

What Eugene was embarrassed to admit to Shiloh was that the shopkeeper had also tried to teach him magic, but he couldn’t read, and memorizing spells by rote had minimal effect, not to mention understanding those seemingly arcane conversion formulas and magic circles.

If one really wanted to learn magic, they had to start with cultural lessons, but Eugene lacked the persistence and determination in this area. He preferred spending more time learning swordsmanship and physical skills with Shiloh, so Charlie let him be.

“That’s true.” Shiloh scratched his head. He quite liked the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, mainly because, despite being older, he lacked the annoying preachiness of elders and always managed to make interesting gadgets, which were incredibly popular with the kids.

He was about to ask Eugene more about the principle of the hypnotic harmonica when he saw the lights turned on in the hall. Hasting was coming downstairs.

The redhead perked up, and a few minutes later, they saw two mercenaries rubbing their hands hurriedly crossing the hall towards the kitchen.

That was the signal of the Duke’s return—

Shiloh nudged Eugene and jumped off the low wall, crouching as he ran upstairs. Just as he reached the balcony, he saw two figures in dark cloaks silently entering through the side door, the one in front taking large strides, quickly crossing the corridor, and heading upstairs.

In less than two minutes, the mercenaries came out of the kitchen, each with a piece of bread in their mouth and carrying a heavy tin pot.

Eugene and Shiloh both breathed a sigh of relief, racing to the second-floor living room.

Only Charlie was in the living room. His cloak was casually draped over the arm of the sofa. Hearing the commotion, he turned to look at the door and blinked at the eagerly arriving Shiloh and Eugene.

“Good evening,” he said.

Eugene looked around. “Where’s the Duke?”

Charlie shrugged, but Shiloh knew his boss well. “He must have gone to change clothes. Outerwear is never allowed in the everyday rooms—what’s that? It smells good!”

“It seems like Hasting has prepared a late-night snack.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper intuitively pointed to several large plates on the low table, covered with silver lids. Heaven knows how Shiloh could smell it.

Although tempted, Shiloh was determined not to eat before the Duke, and he excitedly plopped down opposite Charlie. “Is Miss Priscilla safe? Is she well? How’s the security at the villa? Any incidents? Uh—Erica didn’t come with them, did she?”

His tone dropped conspiratorially as he asked the last question.

Charlie was amused by him. “Are you that afraid of Erica?”

“Afraid of her? I’m not afraid of her,” Shiloh said sternly. “I just don’t usually pick fights with women.”

If Shivers were there, he would have laughed and exposed him. “If you lose, it’s because you’re being courteous to women, but if you win, it’s about giving your all out of respect for your opponent. Winning always proves that our Shiloh really has gentlemanly manners.”

But with no one around to reveal his bluff, Shiloh began to boast, “Erica is just tall, that’s all. Her strength and skill are mediocre, and she always likes to challenge the knights. Sometimes I’m embarrassed to hit too hard, afraid I might hurt her. If she cried, everyone would definitely say, ‘Oh, Shiloh, how could you seriously fight a woman?'”

Charlie blinked. “Erica, is that so?”

This statement immediately interrupted Shiloh’s self-indulgent rant, and he jumped up from the sofa like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, quickly turning his head to look at the door.

Just then, Hasting entered through the door, looking puzzled, while Eugene fell off his chair laughing.

“Keep it down,” the Duke said impatiently from behind Hasting. “Do you want to wake up the whole house of mercenaries downstairs and tell them we’re having a midnight banquet?”

Shiloh made a face at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and ingratiatingly moved forward to pull out a chair for the Duke.

“The evening went smoothly enough,” the shopkeeper said after drinking a glass of fig wine, comfortably squinting his eyes. “It’s just a bit chilly at night. Riding the horses in the wind was quite biting.”

With Lestrop away and Priscilla’s insider cooperation, their infiltration into the villa was much easier. However, the lady was quite unhappy with her brother’s capricious actions. Initially, she spent a lot of time sternly criticizing him for not wanting to leave Doran immediately, which made the outsider, Charlie, somewhat embarrassed.

However, when Dwight shared their findings about the Holy Grail, Priscilla calmed down considerably.

As the Duke guessed, Priscilla didn’t become a clinging vine just because she was far from home. Not long after her marriage, she realized that Lestrop was indifferent about their union.

That wasn’t unusual—marriage, for most nobility, was more like a partnership project. As long as the interests of both parties were aligned, whether love was present wasn’t very important.

But that didn’t mean Priscilla was willing to be treated like a fool—if Lestrop had kept a few mistresses in the countryside or was ambiguously involved with a socialite in the city, she wouldn’t have minded if her husband was distracted.

But if the other party was Queen Christine, it would be a different story.

As time passed, Priscilla smoothly entered the upper echelons of Mokwen society and naturally heard about her husband’s premarital rumors with the Queen. If they could maintain decorum and avoid any actions that might dishonor their families, Priscilla was willing to turn a blind eye. However, a chance discovery made her realize that she didn’t just have to worry about Lestrop rekindling his old flames with Christine because their love had never been extinguished.

They even planned for Christine to bear Lestrop’s child!

That was why Christine hadn’t conceived in the years following her marriage to Tifa: The Queen had bribed doctors to convince Tifa that she was unlikely to conceive, giving her a chance to execute this despicable plan secretly. But perhaps even the gods despised their actions, as they had been unsuccessful for years.

“Lestrop has always been resentful that the old king chose Tifa,” Priscilla said, sitting on a soft stool. The soft light illuminated her light golden hair, casting a gentle halo around her. “Christine’s homeland is a powerful nation, and the marriage was only considered with the future king in mind. In this respect, her personal influence isn’t as great as people outside think.”

Her features weren’t as captivating as her brother’s, but they were certainly beautiful, and her every move revealed an elegant demeanor that made one want to keep looking.

“Lestrop and Christine want to covertly take the place of the first royal heir. If they succeed, Tifa will never know that the eldest prince is Lestrop’s son… Christine will do everything to support him ascending to the throne.” This was also why Lestrop endured the clearly unfair titles after Tifa’s succession. He wanted to use this method to get back at Tifa.

This was something Priscilla couldn’t allow to happen, unrelated to personal feelings.

If the other woman was just a common mistress, any number of illegitimate children would hardly shake Priscilla’s position. But if the other woman was Christine, and their child was set up on the throne, by then Tifa would likely have been successfully removed, and at that time, Priscilla would become more useless than Tifa, a joke after wasting decades of her life.

“You don’t need to get involved in this messy business,” Dwight said. “Tifa obviously has ulterior motives for the Holy Grail, and I don’t think Lestrop is innocent in this matter.”

“Yes,” Priscilla said coldly. “That’s also why I lost my first child.”

---

Kinky Thoughts:

The scene of Shiloh and Eugene eating melons probably has an intended double meaning, as eating melons refers to the act of gossiping in Chinese slang (which was what they were doing, literally and figuratively).

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 81

New kings.

These words made the Duke’s eyes suddenly narrow.

This could probably explain why Mokwen and the other kingdoms, despite having planted their royal flags across every inch of the Doran continent, still chased after the Holy Grail, which was like a reflection in water with such thirst.

Because the behemoth in the darkness was ready to pounce, and showing any sign of weakness could mean being devoured alive—an unbearable prospect for anyone who had ascended to a throne.

If a century ago someone had said that the Black Gold Families were tired of the shadows and wanted to overturn the existing order, nobles like Dwight would have laughed it off as a joke—no, even in the still stable empire of Pennigra, it would be hard to turn such a notion into reality.

But in Doran, it was a different story. After several generations, the Black Gold Families had become like sponges that constantly absorbed dirty water and impurities. To some, they might still seem soft, but it was undeniable that they had swollen to an unignorable size.

Dirty, yet a massive presence.

Charlie observed Dwight’s expression, which had completely changed from the conflicted and vacant look of ten minutes ago. His aura was even sharper than when they first met.

It was the look of a superior feeling offended and cautious towards a challenge from a subordinate.

Although they were two separate continents, they had always interacted. For Pennigra to ignore this momentum and stay out of it was unrealistic. Moreover, a neighbor who always fights brothers behind closed doors was better than a malevolent, depraved one that was inhumane.

The Duke’s tension wasn’t only from the anger of having his authority challenged but also from the alarms sounded by his background, position, and education.

No Black Gold Family should be allowed to spread into the sunlight. The means they used to sustain and develop were a confusingly toxic poison to all social strata, always accompanied by irreversible corruption behind extreme pleasure and excitement. Therefore, keeping them firmly in the dark was a tacit agreement among the existing power groups.

This was also why the most hedonistic noble groups had always clearly distinguished themselves from the Black Gold Families, despite having a few prodigal sons at home addicted to their corrupt games.

As long as the legitimate heirs and the workers who supported their lavish lifestyles didn’t touch those things that could corrode the will.

Every noble family that had successfully lasted through changes in power had an astute leader, and they understood this better than anyone.

Dwight was no exception.

Although it made him uncomfortable, he still allowed himself to imagine the worst possibility in the shaking carriage.

Once those jackals truly showed their heads, most ordinary people with weak wills would be unable to resist those originally illegal trades and corrupt lifestyles. Then weakness, outbursts, poverty, strife, and madness would sweep across the continent like a plague, devouring every living thing in sight.

At that time, the so-called new order would be no order at all.

“The ‘Holy Grail’ must not exist.” Having realized this, the Duke subconsciously caressed the gem on the top of his cane. “Whether its legend is true or false.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked down at his interlaced fingers and said in a very calm tone, “The Holy Grail never existed. It’s just the crazy fantasy of insatiable humans about the divine realm.”

“Is that so?” Dwight stared at his face, expressionless.

Charlie’s heart suddenly trembled for no reason.

“Yes,” he said firmly, in a soft voice. “The gods wouldn’t allow such a thing to be born, and humans wouldn’t let it appear in this world. Don’t you think so?”

The atmosphere in the carriage suddenly turned cold. Dwight had many things to resolve urgently, including writing a letter to the Empire to report the ambitions secretly brewing on the Doran continent at this moment…

But he still sat without moving.

After a while, he counter-asked Charlie.

“What about you? What do you think?”

Charlie looked up, his large, round eyes filled with complex emotions.

“My thoughts don’t matter,” he said.

His expression made Dwight feel strange—he suddenly wished their conversation could go back a few minutes.

Dwight didn’t speak immediately but thought for a while.

“If—I mean, if—you happened to encounter the ‘Holy Grail,’ what would you do?”

Charlie looked at him, somewhat stunned.

Not getting an answer, Dwight stopped caressing his cane and leaned forward, the distance between them becoming very close due to his action—so close that they could clearly see their own reflections in each other’s eyes.

It wasn’t the first time they had been this close.

When separated from his companions, Charlie personally washed his hair, which wasn’t just once or twice.

But it was the first time Charlie had the thought of retreating to avoid answering.

But Dwight’s attitude became particularly strong at such times.

“What would you do?” he asked again.

[—What if the Holy Grail really appeared?

—Then of course, seize it.

Control it.

Kill it.

Bury it.

—But what if that fails?

—Then it would seek its own destruction.

—Are you sure?

—I promise.]

Charlie blinked hard.

“I would kill it,” he said softly. “—Probably.”

“You’re lying.” Dwight still stared into his eyes, his expression extremely focused, as if studying a profound scholarly paper.

He had occasionally glimpsed the real emotions hidden under Rabbit Head’s indifferent facade, but not often. Most of the time, the other really seemed to care about nothing.

Only this time, the Duke was very sure he had caught his false side.

But Charlie didn’t let him observe too long and somewhat helplessly raised his hand in a gesture of surrender.

“Alright, I don’t like taking lives,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said. “Even if you tied up the Holy Grail and put it on the dining table, I probably wouldn’t be able to do it.”

The Duke’s eyelashes finally trembled, and he slowly sat back in his original position.

“You said life?” he repeated.

Dwight finally understood the vague discomfort he had been feeling in his heart.

Since learning of the existence of the Holy Grail, he had instinctively regarded it as a symbol of subversion and desecration—likely the same for the royal families and the Black Gold Families.

But the words of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper made him suddenly realize that if it was born through a human mother, regardless of its form or gender, the Holy Grail was actually a life.

Even a person.

Realizing this, he raised his head and stared straight at Charlie opposite him.

“You’ve been lying. The Holy Grail does exist, doesn’t it?” Dwight said softly.

Charlie’s long ears twitched, but he said nothing.

Dwight felt a mix of emotions—Rabbit Head’s long-standing evasion and concealment on this topic finally had a plausible explanation today. His attitude toward the Holy Grail conflicted with that of the various royal families, the Black Gold Families, and even Dwight himself.

The Holy Grail was like a sharp, long sword—some wanted to grasp its hilt for power, others wanted to break its blade to prevent harm, but Charlie stood in a protector’s stance in front of the blade.

“You…” Dwight hesitated, a rarity for him.

The reaction was enough to make him realize a lot. It was a secret action by a superior, yet why could Rabbit Head from a small town on another continent understand so much about the origins and circumstances of this matter, and the so-called grievances of Witch Elena were probably just this man’s excuse to deal with external inquiries.

He knew of the Holy Grail’s existence and might have even seen it—or come into contact with it.

Charlie poured himself a cup of tea but didn’t drink.

“You’ve always been hiding the truth. Do you think I would do something? Like those beasts without bottom lines, seeking power that isn’t theirs to change fate?” Dwight said expressionlessly. “Or would I find the Holy Grail before everyone else and cut off its head?”

Before Charlie could answer, he continued, “You don’t like taking lives, but you think I do?”

Charlie still said nothing.

Dwight pressed his brow, tired.

Once he realized this, he couldn’t help but continue to think… If the Holy Grail truly were born, aside from the issue of blood, it would be indistinguishable from an ordinary child—having a name, thoughts, temperament, dreams. Could such a being, when standing before people, truly be seen purely as a stepping stone for power or a volatile factor that needs elimination?

“There are ways to make it not exist other than erasure,” the Duke finally said, but he didn’t look at Charlie, as if talking to himself, and he didn’t voice the second half of his thoughts.

If ‘he’ had an independent will, one that didn’t engage in the struggle for power, then ‘his’ existence wasn’t original sin.

At least Dwight thought so.

Shiloh felt the atmosphere was a bit strange, as if he had just slept through a lot and missed a lot.

“What’s with them?” Shiloh whispered to Hasting. “Not talking to each other is one thing, but even their seats are so far apart. It’s really strange.”

Hasting grimaced and pushed his fluffy head away—never mind that he didn’t know what had happened, even if he did, he couldn’t casually discuss the Duke’s matters as common gossip.

It’s a wonder where Shiloh picked up this habit. He was clearly a knight but was acting like a nosy street loafer, poking around and sniffing for news.

Although Hasting was also secretly amazed.

The missing sense of distance between the Duke and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would surprise anyone seeing it for the first time. Even the Knight Commander, who had followed the Duke for many years, could hardly achieve the kind of ease they had between them, largely thanks to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s disregard for the Duke’s status and routine provocations, and the Duke’s unusually high tolerance in response.

That’s why, when they suddenly started giving each other the cold shoulder, the invisible barrier between them was glaringly obvious.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sat by the fire, nonchalantly roasting an apple.

To save time, they had left the originally planned town at four in the afternoon, and tonight they could only spend the night in the suburbs.

Fortunately, they had several carriages, and although the temperature was still a bit low, with a campfire and wine, the mercenaries used to sleeping under the sky wouldn’t complain much.

Charlie knew Shiloh and Eugene had been whispering and speculating about what had happened between him and the Duke, but he didn’t want to satisfy their curiosity because, strictly speaking, nothing had actually happened.

This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed a serious topic, but because the Duke was too insistent on touching on thoughts he was reluctant to reveal, it made him somewhat uncomfortable.

But the rabbit-headed shopkeeper would never admit that he was sulking. He just didn’t feel like talking to the Duke for the time being.

On the other hand, he was somewhat worried that he might reveal more than should be public due to the Duke’s aggressive approach. It had been many years since he’d encountered a person or situation that could push him to that extent.

“He’s a dangerous man,” he muttered softly.

The Duke sat on a folding wooden chair far from the fire. His high collar and hood hid most of his face. After being shaken on the carriage all day, he finally couldn’t resist getting off to rest for a while.

The mercenaries had lit two other fires not far from them, and occasionally someone would curiously glance over, wanting to know what their rarely seen mysterious boss looked like, but there were always people by his side, perfectly blocking their view.

The mercenary captain knew that the lord didn’t like to be watched, but the two young men by his side were quite formidable, always guarding very strictly, so he didn’t specifically restrain their curiosity.

Because they were in the suburbs, to prevent wild animal attacks and other accidents, Hasting stayed within three steps of the Duke, while Shiloh took on the errand-running work, but because the usually trouble-making rabbit-headed shopkeeper suddenly stopped crowding around the Duke, their workload had suddenly decreased a lot. When Hasting signaled to Shiloh, the boy, who was secretly planning to also grab an apple to roast, looked up somewhat blankly.

Hasting suppressed the urge to hit him, sending him to fetch a letter—Hall, who had been secretly following them, had sent a message. There was a letter coming.

Perhaps because the distance was continuously closing, Erica’s messages came more frequently than Shivers’, and tonight was no different.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 80

“Hunting beauties is a traditional activity of the Lion family,” said the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, perched on a half-man-high rock, whittling a flute with a small knife. “If you’re not interested, it’s best to decline outright… but people from that family won’t give up easily, so Erica might be in trouble.”

Hearing this, Hasting turned to look. About twenty steps away, a group of mercenaries were loudly gathering firewood, setting up a soup pot, and Eugene was among them, gesturing with a dried duck, which caused laughter among those around him.

“It doesn’t matter if they hear. These things are hardly secrets on the continent,” Charlie said without looking up. “It should be said that their reputation for liking handsome men is as well-known as their exceptional combat skills. Many are known for being favored by the Lion family, and they take it as a compliment.”

Hasting shook his head, not bothering to correct the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s misunderstanding.

What he was actually watching was Eugene.

This man has an unexpected gift for languages. In just two weeks, Eugene managed to learn about sixty to seventy percent of the mercenaries’ mountain dialect. Although his grammar wasn’t perfect, his accent was remarkably accurate. Using this roughly spoken language, he had quietly bridged a gap with the mercenaries without them noticing. Now, like this break in the middle of their journey, they even accepted him joining them for a meal from the same pot—though Eugene’s various sausages and beers also played a part, it’s notable since mercenary groups were typically very insular. Even the Duke was somewhat surprised that he could integrate so well.

Charlie, noticing no response from Hasting, looked up in the direction he was staring and saw Eugene imitating a mercenary with a particularly raspy voice, which made everyone push and shove each other, noisy enough that even the wild rabbits didn’t dare to show up.

If Hasting knew that Eugene had once witnessed a murder in the dark alleys of Syriacochi, he would have even more respect for Eugene, understanding the deep-seated fear he harbored against these men.

Because neither the Duke nor Charlie had ever asked him to force himself to get close to the mercenaries.

“He seemed like just a street rat at first,” Hasting murmured as he turned his gaze away. “I was short-sighted.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper chuckled. “Your master is so picky. Ordinary street rats certainly wouldn’t catch his eye.”

Eugene had his own skills. Among this group, only Eugene could naturally get close to the mercenaries, something even the half-grown Shiloh couldn’t manage.

Although the mercenaries weren’t overly defensive against Shiloh, they wouldn’t close the distance with him either, which Charlie thought was probably due to the traces of his background.

Members of the knight order were generally not pretentious (only the Duke was good at that), but Shiloh’s manners still betrayed his well-educated background, which instinctively put off those accustomed to scrapping from the bottom.

Eugene should have belonged to the latter group, but he had seamlessly integrated into the new collective, even if his initial introduction by the Duke had been in such a humiliating fashion. He never adopted the submissive posture that lower classes typically reserve for their betters.

Charlie believed that if Eugene had started with that attitude, neither Columbus nor Shiloh would have accepted him as naturally as they did later.

It was hard to say if Eugene was aware of this, but so far, he has never erred in judging which demeanor to adopt before whom.

Hasting was still not quite used to Charlie’s habitual disrespect in his language towards the Duke, but if even the Duke hadn’t objected… he decided to remain silent, watching as the shopkeeper put away his knife, blew off the wood shavings, and stood up.

“Where’s Shiloh?” he asked.

Hall always stayed out of sight, but Shiloh usually couldn’t be kept hidden. It was odd that he hadn’t appeared by now when even the tea had boiled.

“He’s on the carriage,” Hasting replied, extinguishing most of the fire, leaving just enough to keep the teapot warm, a habit of the Duke’s, who needed a strong cup of tea to fully wake up after a nap.

Shiloh was growing rapidly, sometimes waking up from pain in the middle of the night. Recently, he was truly sleep-deprived, and even the time allocated for Eugene’s sword lessons had been reduced. He was grabbing every possible moment to catch up on sleep.

Charlie glanced inside their carriage, where Shiloh had cocooned himself in a blanket, steaming with warmth as he slept.

He thought for a moment, then closed the carriage door and watched as a yellow-brown paper figure meandered towards him, stopping at his feet before climbing up the axle.

Charlie bent down to pick up the paper figure, straightened up, and saw Hasting approaching with a large pot of tea.

“Was something moving just now?” the young knight frowned.

For a second, as he approached, he thought he saw something quickly running towards the carriage.

“I didn’t see anything coming… Maybe a startled field mouse?” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper shrugged. “Is he awake?”

“Yes, we’ll set off in fifteen minutes,” he said tersely, handing the teapot to Charlie and climbing into the carriage, unceremoniously dragging Shiloh out of his blankets.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stood watching Shiloh wrestle with Hasting, then thought better of it and carried the teapot to the largest carriage in the convoy.

The Duke had a headache.

Lately, he had been sleeping poorly, especially during the day. Being in unfamiliar places made it hard for him to relax fully, and the longer it went on, the more unbearable it became to wake up.

As Charlie opened the door, he saw the Duke, whose beauty was often likened to that of an elf, glaring at a decorative dagger hanging on the carriage wall, looking as if he wanted to swallow it whole.

The strong tea Hasting had prepared for him was still steaming, but the Duke hadn’t touched it yet. Instead, he slowly turned his head to watch the rabbit-headed shopkeeper close the door of the carriage.

“You should get out and walk around.” Charlie examined his face carefully. “Some sunlight would do you good.”

The Duke, who even when freshly awake insisted on sitting up straight, muttered something quietly, which Charlie took a moment to understand as “I don’t like those rough men.”

The high-nosed, robust mercenaries indeed didn’t fit the Duke’s aesthetic. His Brandenburg Knights were known for their disciplined, graceful demeanor—in this, Shiloh excelled, with Lemena once commenting that his fighting style was “more mesmerizing than a dance”.

It wasn’t until after finishing an entire cup of strong tea that the Duke’s heavy head began to clear, by which time the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had already polished off a whole plate of crispy cookies, complaining all the while about the bitterness of the tea Hasting brewed, claiming it was hard to drink without something sweet.

The Duke was unmoved, pouring himself a second cup of tea.

If Priscilla were here, she would have made a big fuss about it—truth be told, before leaving Lemena, he had never even touched the handle of a teapot. While the purpose of this journey had not yet been achieved, he had made numerous breakthroughs in self-care, from pouring tea to dressing and washing.

After all, as capable as Shiloh was, he couldn’t fully replace the work of the dozens of servants under normal circumstances.

This realization—that his years of smooth living were built on such a vast amount of human labor—had surprised the Duke, and he wasn’t prepared to admit this to anyone.

Especially not to Rabbit Head.

“Where’s Eugene?” he asked, tiredly ignoring the other’s suggestion to take a walk in the wilderness.

Charlie pulled out a silk handkerchief, meticulously cleaned his fingers, and then pulled a small paper figure from his pocket that matched the color of the springtime rural fields.

“Internal meetings are off-limits, but casual chats and meals are no longer a problem,” he said. “This is from this morning… It’s about time.”

This paper figure was a variant of his small magic “Gray Sentinel”, derived from the ingenuity of a friend during his student days, capable of discreetly eavesdropping on secrets not meant to be shared.

The little paper figure stood on the tabletop with hands on hips. Charlie muttered something to it, and a small slit automatically opened in the paper figure’s head, beginning to recite the conversations it had overheard.

Eugene hadn’t fully mastered the language yet, especially as some people’s dialects were quite thick, and it was easy to get confused when they spoke quickly. So, he kept this little spy hidden in his outer robe pocket to remember all the information for him.

Both Dwight and Charlie were fluent in the Highlands language, recognizing it without much effort. The paper figure couldn’t filter information. It could only mechanically repeat it, and it took them quite some time to extract something remotely useful from it.

This mercenary group was in the lower middle tier within the Lion family, roaming the southwest of the Doran continent, far from the northern power centers. Much of the family news came through other troops, and they were quite cautious, only discussing trivial matters in front of Eugene, an outsider.

But even these scraps could be of value to those with a discerning eye.

“The current head of the Lion family is under forty, in their prime, but this year there’s an unusually high number of youths entering the continent for their rite of passage. The girl Erica met must be one of them.” Dwight pondered for a moment. “If she’s not close to death, then there must be some other reason making her dissatisfied with her current status, eager to advance her influence to lay the groundwork for further power expansion.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper thought for a moment, almost blurting out “dying isn’t impossible,” but held back.

He wasn’t wishing death out of dislike for the lion, but because of another hallmark of the Lion family.

Members of this family were generally born robust, plus the extreme cold of the Highlands enhanced their cardiopulmonary functions and muscle thickness beyond that of average people. On this foundation, the Lion family had never ceased in their pursuit of ultimate physical strength. Over generations, they had developed training methods considered brutal by ordinary standards and advanced further than anyone in their research on strength-enhancing drugs, dominating the market with their enforcers.

Especially the Lion family heads, always the most formidable. However, intensive training and drug use always came with side effects. In history, there were many Lions who died early due to excessive exertion.

Although this is an objective analysis, out of basic decency, Charlie couldn’t voice such a statement about a woman he had never met, so he remained silent.

The Duke’s light eyes watched him, and even without Charlie saying it aloud, he understood what his unspoken words likely were.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her physically. Adeline Lion is ambitious, not just a muscle-bound fighting machine,” he stated calmly. “Shivers has a Fox, Erica has run into Lion, and if something unexpected takes us to White Bridge, there will be Wolf waiting, as will the family’s inseparable brother, a manipulative opportunist, the long-armed Monkey family.”

“The activity level of these families this year is more exaggerated than the active volcanoes on the border. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Charlie also looked at him. The two stared at each other in the rocking carriage, their emotions unclear.

After a long while, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, you win.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences either,” he said. “After centuries of lying low, these families are probably tired of skulking in the dark. They want to hold sway openly, just like you, with legitimate authority and wealth, and even the king’s blessing and the people’s favor.”

“They’re dreaming,” Dwight said without hesitation.

“In the past, of course, they were dreaming. No matter how big their business and power, no kingdom would truly acknowledge them. In the eyes of the people, they’d always be synonymous with darkness,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper admitted. “But now, things are different.”

“The potential advent of the ‘Holy Grail’ has given them enough space to dream big. If the world won’t recognize them, then they’ll seize power, overturn all order, and build a new continent. By then, they’ll naturally become the true new kings.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 79

The man sprawled on the ground was carried away by a cursing dwarf, and even after the “show” officially began, no one approached the girl within two steps.

Initially, the atmosphere was chillingly eerie, but after two warm-up fights, the room gradually heated up, and the girl remained standing in the front row closest to the ring, creating a subtle contrast with the room’s ambiance.

But seemingly, no one cared about that.

Erica didn’t squeeze to the front, but the man with the big nose who had first spoken to her found her and cryptically asked if she wanted to place a bet—this was where the real money in underground fighting was made. However, he treated Erica like an ignorant rich lamb, enthusiastically persuading her to bet on a fighter called “Death Alex”, who he claimed had specially high odds due to his connections.

The big-nosed man was quite pushy, forcing Erica to spend some time dealing with him. While they were still entangled in discussion, a commotion suddenly arose upfront, involving some cursing in low voices, but most people looked on eagerly for entertainment.

“Why not?” the conspicuously noticeable girl tilted her chin up, ignoring the whispers around her, and stared directly at the middle-aged man in front of her. “I want him.”

Behind the middle-aged man stood a boy, no more than thirteen, with a half-bruised face, messy black hair clumped with sweat and blood, appearing rather disheveled but standing erect.

“Ah, guest, he’s not fully trained yet. He’s only here for a trial today.” The middle-aged man spread his hands with a look of difficulty. “This boy is highly talented… I wouldn’t let him go just like that.”

“Even the best gem cannot shine in the hands of a poor craftsman,” the girl bluntly said. “If you plan to hoard him, better give up that thought soon. His bones are already deforming.”

The middle-aged man looked slightly displeased.

It was common for the wealthy to scout talents in underground fighting rings, and smart individuals wouldn’t offend a bidder—but the girl was being rather impolite.

Though she spoke truthfully, this boy could now hold his own against opponents who were sixteen or seventeen years old. He was truly reluctant to let him go so soon. By the age of fifteen, the boy could have made a name for himself, and by then, he wouldn’t worry about fetching a high price.

“How about it?” The girl twirled a money bag in her fingers, shimmering under the light. “I offer twelve gold coins, enough for you to buy two boys of the same age.”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “Miss, that price might buy you hunting dogs, not a wild wolf.”

“I’ll offer fifteen gold coins,” a voice interjected.

The girl turned sharply, seeing a young man wrapped in a headscarf watching them.

A smile appeared on the middle-aged man’s face. His continuous haggling wasn’t solely because the price hadn’t reached his expectations but also because, with only one bidder, the chance for a markup was small. But if these two could drive the price up, what difference did it make whether he sold in spring or autumn?

The boy behind him remained expressionless, seemingly unaware of the dispute he had sparked.

“Eighteen gold coins,” the girl said, narrowing her eyes as if trying to see through the other bidder’s headscarf—he was standing just where light met shadow, half of his face obscured, highlighting the frightening brightness of his visible eye.

“Twenty gold coins,” Erica called out.

The girl looked displeased.

But such bidding under the table was common practice here, and everyone who entered knew the rules. She had no reason to react.

However, the big-nosed man who had been chatting with Erica looked agonized. He knew that fellow must be a wealthy young master but hadn’t expected him to be so lavish.

“Twenty—Five—Gold—Coins.” The girl enunciated each word.

That was already above the average price during the peak season, when foot traffic was highest.

She glanced again at the boy behind the middle-aged man, then shifted her gaze to the man trying to intercept the bid.

He looked young, dressed without any distinctive decorations or rare fabrics, yet he was very decisive in his bidding.

Generous yet cautious—a bit of a challenge.

Erica stepped fully into the light. She was taller than the middle-aged man and the boy, and as she moved, both seemed almost overshadowed by her.

Twenty-five gold coins were nearly reaching the girl’s breaking point. Bidding was essentially a psychological game. Erica could tell her opponent wasn’t well-versed in it.

“Twenty-seven gold coins,” Erica stated.

The girl glared at Erica. “Twenty-nine gold coins.

The middle-aged man’s smile was nearly impossible to hide—by the gods above, he never imagined that this not yet fully trained whelp could fetch such a price during the dry season’s warm-up matches!

Now he had completely forgotten how he had cursed this disrespectful girl just minutes ago. He merely tried hard not to look too pleased.

Erica, not even glancing at the middle-aged man, was about to speak when she was interrupted by the girl.

“I can still raise the bid,” she said, “but there’s no need—”

She tilted her head towards the man, implying clearly.

Continuing this would only benefit him.

“What would make you back down?” she asked.

Erica wasn’t riled by her attitude, instead asking in what could almost be considered a gentle tone, “What if I asked you to back down?”

If there hadn’t been children involved today, it would have been different, but since there were, Erica was determined not to leave empty-handed.

The girl looked Erica up and down, then suddenly smiled.

Erica watched as she unfastened an obsidian necklace from around her neck, stuffing it into her pocket.

“Let’s settle this with a fight. The loser backs down,” the girl suggested.

The room briefly fell silent, then suddenly buzzed with murmurs.

“There’s never been such a thing!” A man in a white headscarf exclaimed loudly. “That’s never happened here—”

“Oh come on. It might be fun.” Another man ogled lecherously at the girl’s now-bare neck.

“Don’t joke. Not everyone is so barbaric as to resort to fists…”

“You’re joking. Why come here if you don’t like fists?”

“It might be possible. That young man is quite tall.”

“But it’s not clear if he’s solid…”

“A punch scared you? She’s a woman after all…”

The two central figures ignored the surrounding noise.

“How about it?” The girl, only reaching Erica’s shoulder, kept her chin up to maintain eye contact, looking both stubborn and adorable.

But Erica knew that being deceived by this appearance wouldn’t lead to a pleasant outcome.

“Sure,” Erica said.

Before she even fully finished speaking, a fierce gust of a punch was already speeding towards her face.

Most of the room hadn’t expected her to act so quickly. The crowd scattered, instantly clearing a large circle.

Erica stepped back half a step, leaning back just enough to dodge the punch, but saw her opponent quickly pull back, drop to one hand on the ground, and sweep her leg towards Erica’s knees!

The girl appeared slender, but her kick stirred up a gust of wind indoors. If her opponent had fallen, she could have quickly followed up—a simple yet effective close-combat killing technique familiar to any trained warrior. But misled by the first feint punch, it was hard to react in time. The girl had relied on this move to remain undefeated across the continent until now.

But today, for the first time, she missed.

She widened her eyes, watching as her opponent flipped mid-air from the leaning back position, landing with a leg kicked out, mirroring her own move!

Unable to get up or retreat in time, the girl felt a sharp pain in her leg as she was hit, her vision blurring from the intense light, causing her to instinctively squint. In those two seconds, she was flipped onto the ground, her neck and hips firmly pinned.

Erica looked down at her. “So we have an agreement?”

Some could tell that Erica hadn’t used her full strength.

When the girl was knocked down, Erica could have forced her to lie face down and used her knee to pin her waist. By grabbing her throat and pulling backwards, it would have been possible to break the girl’s spine right there.

The girl understood this too.

She didn’t struggle, just tried to adjust her eyes to the light.

Despite her growing anger inside, her face remained eerily calm.

Because her neck was clamped, she raised her hand to make a “consent” gesture.

Erica slowly let go but didn’t stand up immediately—her judgment was correct, almost as soon as she removed her hands from the girl’s neck, the latter suddenly raised her hand towards Erica’s face!

But it wasn’t the punch Erica had anticipated, so her dodge was in vain, making the girl’s pull on her scarf even smoother.

Standing up, Erica couldn’t help but laugh as she watched the girl triumphantly clutch her scarf, unabashedly staring at her face. “What’s your name?” she asked with intense curiosity.

Erica didn’t respond right away, but she extended her hand.

This time, there was no sudden attack. The girl took the support and stood up, still scrutinizing Erica’s face under the light, more and more pleased with what she saw.

This was the most attractive man she had seen so far—tall and handsome, without the off-putting delicacy or the crude roughness of a carnivore, everything was just right.

And his skills were formidable, though perhaps a bit too soft-hearted.

Actually, she had no qualms about losing. She had chosen her opponent herself, and the battlefield always spoke through strength—it was normal to be outmatched, and making a fuss about it would have been the true embarrassment.

There was unwillingness and a sense of humiliation, of course, but curiously, after seeing her opponent’s face, her anger and frustration had almost completely dissipated, and even the rare talent she occasionally encountered had been forgotten.

It was a good thing she wanted to see what the man who had beaten her looked like.

Holding her scarf, she asked again, “What’s your name? I’m Sasha.”

Erica nodded. “Erica.”

Sasha turned to the middle-aged man, who was still watching. “Twenty-seven gold coins. Bring him over.”

The fight had begun and ended so abruptly that most people hadn’t quite grasped what had happened. However, the merchant nature of the middle-aged man made him cautiously ask, “But you went up to twenty-nine coins.”

“I lost, he’s his,” Sasha stated plainly. “His last bid was twenty-seven. Cut the chatter.”

Though Sasha had lost, it didn’t mean she wasn’t formidable—everyone remembered how she had knocked a man down at the start.

The middle-aged man, his heart in agony over the loss of two or more gold coins, dared not object, as he knew too well he couldn’t afford to offend either of them.

He had been involved in the underground fighting scene for nearly twenty years. Others might not know, but he was very aware that the techniques used by these two were genuine killing moves, both in action and in force. He had never seen anyone in the Lababata fighting pits who could match them.

Comparatively, the “highly talented” kid he held seemed insignificant. Twenty-seven gold coins was already an extraordinary price, and besides, he couldn’t afford to provoke either of them.

Erica, not wanting any more complications, walked out with the boy, and Sasha reattached her necklace and followed through the low door.

The boy silently followed Erica, his rigid back indicating he wasn’t as calm as he appeared, unsure whether his wariness should be directed at Erica, who had bought him, or Sasha, who followed.

The mantis-like clerk was still dozing behind the counter. Erica woke him and bought a plain blanket to temporarily wrap around the boy, paying with copper coins this time.

His bulging eyes followed them hatefully.

Sasha’s camel was still outside. Erica nodded at her as she was about to leave, but Sasha stopped her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Erica, clearly not a local, was obviously just passing through Lababata.

Erica smiled. “Goodbye.”

Sasha wasn’t like the delicate noblewomen from the capital, who might faint at a slightly harsh tone. In such an environment, Erica didn’t want to give her any illusions… but this polite rejection clearly had little effect.

“I’ll give you thirty thousand gold coins,” the girl suddenly said.

It was undoubtedly a massive sum—enough to buy a portion of land and a manor in any kingdom of Doran, living a life of high society. In a more corrupt royal court, even a noble title might be purchasable.

But Erica just raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’ll give you thirty thousand gold coins,” Sasha repeated, looking at her. “Come with me.”

---

The author has something to say:

Shiloh: “The Duke actually revived that bird. I need to write to the captain!”

Hasting: “That’s not a bird. Isn’t it a Pluto Owl?”

Eugene: “Isn’t it a dragon? But it looks like a black lizard to me.”

Hall: “The Pluto Owl is a kind of dragon. For heaven’s sake, haven’t you ever read a book? That thing is very rare, definitely worth a lot of money…”

Shiloh: “Isn’t the point that the Duke can actually keep a small animal alive?”

Hall: “After all, the Pluto Owl is no ordinary animal. It can even rehydrate from being a mummy. The Duke’s little issue is nothing in comparison.”

Eugene: “Hmm? What’s the problem with the Duke?”

Shiloh: “He’s never managed to keep any animal or plant alive since he was a child. His previous pets were quickly found and rescued by the captain and then moved to Miss Priscilla’s care, after which he stopped keeping any.”

Hasting: “After all, it’s a dragon.”

Everyone: “Dragons are indeed different.”

Charlie: “They say behind your back that you’re a jinx. Everything you keep dies.”

Dwight (smiling): “That’ll be a deduction from everyone’s salary.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 78

If she could, Erica would have preferred the Duke to stay in a well-defended city, letting her and the knights handle all the arrangements and scheduling, as the noble status of their master wasn’t suited for such strenuous and exhausting journeys.

But decisions made by the head of the Dwight family weren’t to be questioned by them.

She stowed away her spyglass as the wind brought tiny grains of sand against her face, though most were blocked by the fully wrapped headscarf.

After leaving Syriacochi, Count Lestrop headed towards White Bridge. Due to the long journey and the slow pace typical of noble carriages, catching up to them would require little effort.

The Mokwen Kingdom, near the edge of the continent, had a dry climate and suffered from water scarcity all year round, but it was still better off compared to its neighbors.

After leaving Mokwen, the carriage entered the Kingdom of Lababata, a small country where sixty percent of the territory was sandy dunes. The kingdom had virtually no natural resources and served purely as a trade transit country.

Thanks to its geographical location as a southwestern hub on the Doran continent, the kingdom had relatively relaxed entry and exit regulations. Erica and her group had reached the capital city yesterday, while the Lestrop caravan that had departed before them hadn’t yet arrived.

Erica walked down the steps with slight trepidation. Several mercenaries were resting in the shade beneath the building, quickly standing up when they saw their employer descend—Erica nodded coldly, not minding their relaxed posture.

Firstly, mercenaries couldn’t be held to the same standards as the knights, and secondly, the weather in this region was excessively dry and hot. It was still spring, yet the morning sun was already fiercely dazzling, difficult for non-locals to quickly adapt to.

The heat and dryness caused lethargy. As long as they didn’t leave their posts without permission, Erica decided not to spend effort disciplining their everyday conduct. She had more important things to do.

The rented house was close to the city wall, and just twenty steps to the east was the famous Spice Street, formed over a hundred years ago by various spice vendors and gradually evolved into a major trade street after the port and docks were built. It was the first stop for many merchants coming to Lababata. Naturally, as a merchant traveling the continent under the guise of a caravan, Erica couldn’t avoid doing some routine shopping while waiting.

This season wasn’t the peak of spice trading. Many shops’ inventories were leftovers from last year, offering limited choices. Thus, this famous street appeared somewhat vacant at this time.

This situation would continue until the summer rains increased, when the canals filled with water and merchant ships tirelessly moved in and out of the docks like ants drawn to sugar water. By early fall, the street would be crowded, and walking a large animal like a camel down it would be impossible.

Erica glanced casually at a young girl across the street, who, in an environment dominated by long robes and headscarves, was noticeable with her petite nose dotted with freckles, a high ponytail, and the rare sight of a short shirt—her honey-colored skin revealed with her movements was a vibrant splash of color on this street still sleepy from winter.

Such a girl might not attract undue attention in an inland capital, but in this conservative small kingdom, she could easily invite trouble. Erica noticed that at least two groups of people were eyeing the girl, who seemed utterly unconcerned as she leisurely purchased dates, nuts, and some common spices, loading them onto the beautiful little camel beside her.

Erica didn’t linger, turning into a rundown carpet shop.

The shop looked like it had been out of business for years. The display window was empty, and the wooden door’s color was old and patchy, making the originally vibrant patterns look like moth-eaten leaves, exuding an irredeemable air of decay.

Naturally, there were no customers inside, and the shelves behind the wooden counter seemed never to have been cleaned, with a few carpets carelessly thrown on them, as gray as the rest of the shop’s furnishings, making it unclear whether the original colors were indeed that gray or just covered in a layer of dust.

A skinny clerk sat behind the counter. His thick glasses nearly covered his entire face. His pointed chin and magnified eyes made him resemble a bizarre humanoid praying mantis.

Erica approached. “A cup of fire ant liquor.”

“This is a carpet shop, not a bar,” the clerk replied wearily.

“No matter. I brought my own cup,” Erica said nonchalantly, placing a shiny silver coin on the counter, face-up showing a fairy pattern embossed as if newly minted, making the wooden surface look even dirtier.

This wasn’t Lababata’s currency, but this pattern was a hard currency in any Doran country: only a powerful nation could mint fairy coins, and they had a good exchange rate in every country on the continent.

The clerk lifted his eyelids to look at her.

Erica produced another silver coin, this time with the numeric side up, half-stacking it on the first.

“Oh, alright then,” the gaunt clerk muttered, carelessly sweeping the two coins into a drawer under the counter, then moved out from behind it and locked the shop door, though Erica doubted it was necessary as the door was so dilapidated it let in drafts anyway, with most of the shop’s heavy dust likely blown in from the street.

“This way,” the clerk said, holding a silver candlestick and leading Erica through another door behind the counter, down a long, narrow corridor that only allowed single file passage, ending at another door.

But this door looked much sturdier than the shop’s.

The clerk knocked and muttered a few words. The door opened from inside.

“Go on in,” he said, turning to Erica with a malicious grin.

Erica didn’t mind, instead pulling her scarf up over her face—along with the headscarf already covering her hair, only her eyes were visible.

The clerk’s smile disappeared, and he glared at her fiercely before sticking close to the wall and walking back.

Erica leaned in and entered through the door, which was only as tall as her waist. She was greeted by a dwarf inside, who hurried her along before locking the door heavily.

It was hard to imagine from the outside, but the space behind the door was enormous, seeming to hollow out the area around the carpet shop into a vast room. Men sat or stood around the room, with only the central area brightly lit by a large lamp, dazzlingly bright.

However, beyond the reach of the light, it was unusually dark.

Erica didn’t look around like a newcomer but casually found a corner against the wall to stand, not initiating conversation with anyone around.

Unlike the decrepit carpet shop above, the people here were dressed in no way that suggested poverty. Two men even wore finely tailored coats, looking like professors from some royal academy.

Most, like Erica, wore local long robes suited to resist the heat and sand, with their deep-set features and eyebrows nearly crushed together, typical of Lababata locals.

Despite Erica’s similar dress, it didn’t take long for some to notice her presence.

“New here?” a man with a large nose asked her in a thick accent, his face unobstructed and seemingly friendly.

Erica nodded and replied in the common language. “An old friend told me there are exciting games to be seen here.”

“Are you a merchant?” The man with the big nose realized. “It’s not even the rainy season yet. You’re a bit early.”

“It’s my first time. I miscalculated the journey… Never mind that. What’s the entertainment tonight? If it’s just boring dancers, then I’m leaving.” Erica spoke with a dismissive and arrogant tone.

The man with the big nose laughed. “Who brought you here without telling you what this place is?”

“He told me to come and see for myself.”

“A surprise.” The man nodded. “It’s about time I told you. This place isn’t for flirting with dancers. Strictly speaking, there are no women here at all. They can’t stand to see these things.”

Erica stood a little straighter, her tone slightly rising. “Animal fighting?”

When it came to underground male entertainment, animal fights were undoubtedly the most popular and sensationally stimulating activity, though many kingdoms had banned it.

But what good were bans? Whether it was the wealthy debauchees or the disgruntled lower classes, they all relished the blood-boiling spectacle. Once addicted, even the strictest laws couldn’t fully eradicate these practices.

The man chuckled again, reaffirming his assumption that Erica was just another idle young nobleman.

Erica smiled too, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

She actually knew what this place was for—like the animal fights, cruel, but even more challenging to the psychological limits of the audience: human death fights.

Erica not only knew what was going to happen here, but she was also familiar with the rules of such places because a current knight from the Brandenburg Knights had come from such a place as a child.

And for that reason, whenever the Brandenburg Knights and Erica had a chance, they would come to see. Their power wasn’t enough to destroy the existing rules, and it was difficult to pull fully involved adults out, but if there were still unformed children involved, they could be taken away through trades.

Those who could stand on the fighting platform to “perform” for the audience, at least in strength and skill, were above average. Many wealthy individuals sought not only excitement here but also to scout potentially gifted children to take back and raise—limited only to those still children, and the price was high.

“It’s about time. Just wait and see… Dancers… Heh, there won’t be women here! There never have been—huh?!” The big-nosed man’s tone amusingly twisted and came to a screeching halt, as if someone had stuffed a date into his throat.

He bulged his eyes out, staring frozenly in the direction of the entrance.

Erica looked up to see a girl standing at the entrance.

The noisy room had somehow fallen completely silent. Everyone was looking at her.

It was the girl with the camel from the street.

“Lost, honey?” The men, more brazen here than on the street, immediately surrounded her with leering looks. “This is no place for a little girl…”

“Oh, but the shopkeeper let me in,” the girl said. “He didn’t say that.”

“That’s because he doesn’t care about you.” A man with a headscarf, his eyes nearly glued to her chest, reached out and touched her shoulder. “You’re in the wrong place. I’ll take you out.”

The girl wrinkled her nose cutely, looking somewhat innocent, but the moment that hand touched her, she suddenly turned, stepped back half a step, and threw a hard punch to the man’s face!

The man didn’t even get a chance to scream before he fell backward, crashing heavily to the ground. The others around him instantly cleared a circle for him.

Erica’s eyebrows twitched.

The men present might enjoy a bloody spectacle, but that didn’t mean they were capable of fighting themselves. In fact, the weaker someone was, the more they tended to project their fantasies onto this sort of thing. It wasn’t unusual for one to be knocked down with a punch.

What really caught her attention was the girl’s punch—it was precise, instantly knocking the man out, likely breaking his nose.

If one didn’t want to kill someone but wanted to make an example, this was the most efficient way to do it. But this straightforward, brutal way of fighting clearly came from the underground—

That is, from hundreds of cities’ corners, where deadly battles like the ones in this room were staged year-round.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 77

Charlie himself wasn’t sure if he really counted as friends with Kurt.

Before the astrologer showed up at 22 Paulownia Street in the middle of the night a few years ago, carrying his meager belongings, Charlie had never seen a real astrologer.

Kurt, in exchange for a safe residence “where no one could easily tread”, offered annual predictions during his tenancy as payment to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

He had chosen the right person. The situation in Pennigra was relatively stable, and Charlie, quite skilled in staying out of sight, provided Kurt shelter in the Green Forest, making him a neighbor neither too close nor too distant.

The legendary astrologer had a very agreeable personality. Besides astrology, he was also deeply versed in architecture and economics, among other fields, making him one of the few people Charlie had met whose reading volume far surpassed his own.

Their interactions were infrequent, but every year, before the first heavy snow, Charlie would venture deep into the Green Forest to bring winter supplies for Kurt and also to check on his reclusive tenant.

They would smoke together on the treehouse balcony, and then Kurt would enthusiastically recommend erotic novels that he wrote—using a pseudonym; he had been writing novels for some time, but there were no more than three book dealers across any continent willing to invest in them. Charlie once suspected that one of the reasons Kurt was short on money was his spending too much on this hopeless hobby.

But overall, they got along quite well, probably because they could both sense in each other the same sort of guarded bird, always fearful of being discovered.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sat on the roof, watching his own smoke rings quickly dissipate in the air.

The Duke hadn’t actually decided to go to White Bridge. More than just Charlie was wary of that lawless area, and as a Dwight, there were many things he needed to consider.

However, he had already sent Hall to follow Priscilla’s caravan, and he planned to catch up soon—traveling through other kingdoms between Syriacochi and White Bridge. Although Lestrop was also traveling with them, finding a moment for a private meeting wasn’t hard. What really perplexed the Duke was what to do about his sister, Priscilla.

They knew nothing about whether Priscilla was aware of, or to what extent she understood, the clandestine experiments of the Mokwen royal family. She wasn’t a naive noblewoman. Dwight believed she couldn’t be completely unaware of her husband’s and his relatives’ movements.

Dwight was accustomed to being fully prepared. The worst possibility was that Priscilla might be used by Lestrop as a vessel for the Holy Grail—an ordinary pregnancy wouldn’t continuously drain life from a mother, as her roses had proven.

He had no emotional attachment to the unborn child, and if Priscilla was willing to cooperate and abandon the child in time, there might still be a chance. But knowing his sister, Dwight felt this was unlikely.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had always maintained an optimistic outlook on this issue. Part of the reason for the deaths of the innocent women at Thorn Estate was the estate rulers’ focus on the children far more than the mothers. Women were extremely vulnerable after childbirth, and neglect could indeed lead to loss of life.

But with Priscilla’s status as a Countess, unless she was inherently frail, she would surely have doctors and maids in attendance at her delivery, making any mishap during childbirth unlikely.

Caring too much could cloud judgment. Charlie understood the reasons behind the Duke’s costly and consequential personal journey across the continent. Humans couldn’t survive alone. They must invest parts of their souls in loved ones or friends. Knowing in advance that the last place one had left to invest might disappear made any effort to save it seem trivial.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper took a puff of his cigarette. His gaze was melancholic as he stared at the starry night sky.

The Duke was still so young, instinctively knowing he didn’t want to face the consequences of losing Priscilla… If it were him at that age, losing his little tin soldier, he’d probably be even more bewildered than the current Duke.

After all, he had only had Columbus by his side for a long time.

Charlie bent one leg, casually setting aside his pipe.

Columbus understood this, which was why he tirelessly, repeatedly reminded him: No one can truly be ready to face death calmly, but what’s truly frightening isn’t death itself, but the feeling of helplessness when that moment arrives.

“We shouldn’t have any regrets,” the little tin soldier had once said seriously to him. “I think Maplewood is great. Sunny days are good, rainy days too. Staying in to read is good, and so is going out for a walk, Charlie. If one day we’re apart, that should be celebrated—as long as we’ve tried our best every day, death won’t be scary.”

Thinking this, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper finally admitted to himself that he was still somewhat resentful: not because Columbus had run into the fire, but because before doing so, Columbus hadn’t even looked back at him.

The separation without goodbye made him feel abandoned, yet he was reluctant to believe he could have such a childish thought.

But he shouldn’t have doubted Columbus, who was sometimes a bit naive but had always been incredibly steadfast—his long companionship had been a lengthy goodbye.

“You’re right, Columbus,” Charlie said softly, removing his bowler hat and placing it beside him, lightly flicking the stiff brim with his finger. “Long live friendship.”

Yitzfa sat in the carriage, peering out of the bright window at the roadside, just in time to see Shivers standing in a morning robe on the porch.

The messenger boy was short and seemed to struggle a bit on tiptoes, so the tall blonde man leaned slightly to listen, his green eyes intensely focused on the boy, making it hard to tell whether his gaze or the slightly warm morning sun was more tender.

No wonder those women tirelessly speculated about his background and identity. Nearly no one believed this man was just a moderately well-off traveler. The lady of the house where he was staying even suspected he was some king’s illegitimate son.

Yitzfa withdrew his gaze, aware that, despite his harmless appearance, the other was well-trained, and lingering too long might alert him.

Only that group of idle ladies really thought he was a wandering Romeo… As far as he knew, more than one lady was already scheming how to keep him there long-term.

Mrs. Dolly, sitting opposite him, was still intently watching Shivers until the messenger boy hurried across the lawn and climbed into the carriage, then she reluctantly turned her head.

“Poor Green. Last year’s harsh winter caused some problems with his lungs, and he still can’t be active for long periods. May God bless him.” Mrs. Dolly’s voice was thin and sharp, like a lively little bird. “But I believe he’s much better now. At least he looks fine, and we’re just going for a spring outing. It shouldn’t be too burdensome for him.”

Yitzfa didn’t respond and just nodded.

This naive lady fully believed his story about searching for his sister, but Thorn Estate wasn’t a place a few gentries could just probe into, so Yitzfa wasn’t worried about his cover being blown. Rather, if they really found a way into the Thorn Estate, he could abandon his current identity at any time, as his usefulness to the local upper class would be over.

But until then, he still had to put some effort into dealing with these people…

Yitzfa withdrew his thoughts, lowering his eyes to look at Mrs. Dolly beside him. As the carriage moved further away, her attention shifted from the handsome traveler back to Yitzfa—he could almost effortlessly read their thought patterns, making the whole affair exceedingly dull.

Even duller than usual.

Yitzfa pursed his lips.

Yitzfa had originally thought he would need to make an effort to please this woman to gain entry into the upper echelons of this city, but ironically, it wasn’t just Mrs. Dolly who took a fancy to him—her husband did too. Sometimes the way the man looked at him almost made him laugh out loud.

To Yitzfa, it didn’t really matter whether the person was male or female, and usually, by just appearing fragile and easily frightened, it was hard to tell who would end up being the pleaser.

It wasn’t uncommon for both spouses to take an interest in him at the same time, but the morals of this small town were a bit more conservative compared to those of various kingdoms, probably because of their marital status. Both were cautious and restrained each other, which actually made the well-prepared Yitzfa somewhat bored.

…He had never before spent so much time flirting with someone only to have nothing but a “good night” at the end of the day.

It was almost as pure as needing just a bedtime story and some warm milk.

Mrs. Dolly was enthusiastic. “Mr. Morris’ vacation villa is near the valley, not far from the estate. We could invite the owner to join us for croquet and chess, and dancing in the evening. Then we might learn about your sister’s whereabouts.”

“That sounds really interesting,” Yitzfa said. “I’ve never played croquet before.”

“Peter will teach you.” Mrs. Dolly patted the back of his hand. “Mr. Green is also quite good at croquet. I heard him say he competed in Syriacochi two autumns ago. I must say, traveling around is fine, but it’s really not safe, especially for a bachelor like him, falling ill with no reliable maid at his side.”

She then exaggeratedly portrayed the drawbacks and potential terrible outcomes of wandering around, as if worried that Yitzfa might want to leave the city and travel somewhere—no, that would not do, at least not now.

There wasn’t another boy as handsome as him in the whole city, and Mrs. Dolly was very aware of the value of a beautiful person.

Yitzfa listened obediently to her, pretending as if his experiences wandering between continents from a young age never existed.

Mrs. Dolly was still young and fairly good-looking, though a bit gossipy, which actually worked in Yitzfa’s favor.

Her husband Peter was also decent-looking. His father was a retired teacher, and his mother was the granddaughter of a Baron, so their family had always considered themselves superior. Even though Peter now dealt in cleaning products, they still claimed to be descendants of a family of educators.

Probably constrained by this ‘status’, the couple temporarily maintained the restraint typical of cultured people, treating Yitzfa as if they truly had rescued a poor orphan, mercifully providing him with a house and meals, and treating him like their own child (though the young couple had no children yet).

This absurd act was transparent to anyone with eyes, but in circles that value propriety, no one would discuss such things openly. The Peters were happy to play dumb—it was hard to say if the couple had discussed this matter, but Yitzfa understood they hadn’t yet reached an agreement, and he was happy to relax as a result.

After all, it didn’t really matter who won.

Yitzfa remembered Mrs. Dolly had casually mentioned that if Mrs. Doug hadn’t been pregnant, she definitely wouldn’t have let the handsome guest slip away. Interestingly, many people thought Mr. Green was a noble gentleman who, regardless of whether the landlady was pregnant or not, wouldn’t commit any immoral acts, leaving only unmarried women actually likely to have an opportunity.

Look at that. Despite doing the same things as him, the other man managed to maintain such a glowing image.

Yitzfa’s gaze dropped, pretending not to notice Mrs. Dolly’s hand resting on his arm.

Because suddenly, he found he had absolutely no interest in it.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 76

It was hard to say whether the Duke of Brandenburg’s luck was indeed extraordinary, but after absorbing nearly a whole basin of liquor, the black Pluto Owl’s limbs spread out, showing signs of coming back to life.

It was difficult to explain what exactly was happening—whether this rare bird was mistakenly mixed into a batch of dried bats being sold cheaply as medicinal material or that it actually absorbed several times its own volume of liquor and truly regained elasticity. Both scenarios were astonishing.

If it wasn’t for Dwight, who purchased it, this precious animal’s fate would most likely have been to end up boiled in a pot with other bats (and it probably wouldn’t even have softened properly), eventually being discarded as waste in a ditch.

That said, even the Duke himself hadn’t expected his impromptu idea to actually rehydrate this dried little creature, and using expensive liquor for its bath wasn’t something just anyone could manage. Before it was even certain that the Pluto Owl could be awakened, the gold coins Dwight had spent had already made Eugene feel physical pain.

Regardless of everyone’s curiosity, the cast-iron basin was moved into the Duke’s room—nobody knew whether this creature would imprint on the first person it saw upon waking, and Dwight decided not to take any chances.

During this time, apart from Hasting, few were allowed into his room, but for some reason, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper again became an exception to the rule.

Even Charlie himself was surprised by this, as Dwight’s interest in and care for the Pluto Owl was obvious. He had thought this serendipitous treasure would at least let the Duke incubate it quietly in his room for a few days. So when Hasting came to invite him, he briefly wondered if he had inadvertently done something recently to irritate the Duke.

The conclusion was that he had not.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper wasn’t one to hesitate. Since the Duke had requested his presence, he entered the room openly, already having prepared his speech to persuade the Duke to meet his sister in some city along the route of the slow-moving Earl’s caravan, and not to get involved in the complicated no-man’s land of White Bridge—it wasn’t worth it.

The Duke seemed to have sensed his thoughts and didn’t immediately discuss this matter.

Charlie’s journey on the Doran continent was supposed to have ended theoretically when Columbus was laid to rest in the castle, and so far, this man hadn’t revealed any unfinished desires or destinations in front of everyone.

Thinking about it, he had lived with a rabbit’s head for several years. Even Dwight couldn’t guess what price might tempt this “salted fish*” to make an effort again.

*Term used for someone who is lazy and unmotivated, lacking ambitions.

However, after considerable thought, the Duke also didn’t want to send him back to Pennigra. He had previously reached an agreement with the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, asking him to help resolve Priscilla’s difficulties within his capabilities.

But “capabilities” was a bit ambiguous, and Charlie wasn’t Eugene. It was difficult to compel him with wealth or authority to do something he didn’t want to, so Dwight had recently concluded: dealing with a rabbit required a less direct approach because of their wide field of vision, and reckless moves were likely to come up empty.

One must be circuitous.

Charlie watched as Hasting set up a tea table with orderly precision, even pouring him a cup of hot apple tea, which made the hair on the back of his neck stand up a bit in alert.

However, Hasting didn’t join their conversation, leaving the room after setting up, giving the rabbit-headed shopkeeper a moment to glance around. He noticed the large iron basin with the Pluto Owl was hidden behind a screen, and judging by the Duke’s cautiousness, he might have even surrounded it with a circle of baby curtains.

“At the moment, there are no signs of the Pluto Owl waking up.” Seeming to read Charlie’s thoughts, the Duke relaxed, crossed his legs, and stroked the gem on top of his cane. “I guess besides alcohol, it needs another catalyst.”

“You could try consulting the Mage Association, or perhaps the old professors at the Comprehensive Academy who specialize in biology. They usually have some insights not shared with the public,” Charlie casually suggested. “Or you could ask Shivers to inquire with Yitzfa again. Although it’s an academic issue, I believe they would find a way to answer your questions if the reward is right.”

The Duke looked up at him, ignoring this digression.

Did this guy think he didn’t think of these things?

But the traces of the Pluto Owl had been lost for decades, and to describe this creature as merely “rare” no longer sufficed. Dwight didn’t want to leak the fact that he possessed this treasure on someone else’s territory. Honestly, he already had enough troubles.

“I’m not here to discuss this with you.” The Duke found that if he was too roundabout, the other person could stretch the topic to the ends of the third continent, so he took out a booklet from the drawer and handed it to him.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper took it skeptically and found it was the catalog for the Wolf annual auction.

Just as he had suspected. Everything about this auction targeted at the elite spared no expense. The edges were gilded with copper, the purple-red cover featured no text but was covered with gold foil inlaid with a wolf’s head.

The edges of the parchment were neat and sharp, flawless, and with lifelike illustrations of the auction items inside, this level of craftsmanship indeed had the merit to attract collectors to spend big.

Holding the catalog, Charlie gave the Duke a strange look.

He had never hidden his distaste for the Wolf family, and with the Duke’s perceptiveness, it was impossible not to notice—could it be that he wanted to tempt him with the treasures in the catalog to go to White Bridge?

This somewhat underestimated his willpower. Besides, everything at the Wolf auction was an heirloom fetching astronomical prices. Although he couldn’t say he was penniless, spending all to acquire a single treasure wasn’t his style.

Hm?

He considered a possibility. Charlie’s ears twitched slightly, but he quickly suppressed the urge to perk them up.

Could the Duke be intending to pay his way as a form of companionship compensation?

This was the Wolf auction, where the starting price of any item was a figure ordinary civilians wouldn’t even dare dream of. Did he really need him to accompany him that badly?

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who had resolved never to step onto the prairie of the wolf’s territory, was inexplicably swayed.

This was, perhaps, a bit too generous.

Charlie looked up at the Duke, who hadn’t noticed how wildly his thoughts had fluctuated in that minute, and instead leisurely sipped his tea.

So, he turned back to browse the catalog.

Because of the large scale of the auction, the catalog only included the most sensational items from each category, making it not too cumbersome to browse, but Charlie’s movements slowed as he flipped through the pages.

The reason was simple. The content of the catalog somewhat exceeded his ethical threshold.

Due to his aversion and rejection, he had never paid close attention to the well-known Wolf auction, mostly learning about it from public gossip, like when a king’s private collection of magical items fetched a shocking price at one auction, whose purpose was merely for a bedroom toy, and other such rumors.

This was his first direct encounter with the auction, and he discovered that in this event, the line between “creature” and “item” was terrifyingly blurred.

Apart from jewelry, potions, and magical items, the auction’s disregard for life shocked Charlie.

In the [Magic] category, potential clients could see various races available for selection—his page-turning halted.

Dwight set down his teacup, finally looking at him squarely.

Charlie stared at the page he was holding, expression unreadable.

“When did you find out?” he asked quietly.

The Duke’s gaze also fell on the opened page.

As he expected, the other had found it difficult to skip over the [Magic] section and had read through the entire catalog.

“Last night,” the Duke said. “I wasn’t interested in the items and hadn’t unsealed it. After sunset, when the Pluto Owl stopped absorbing, I got bored and picked it up, and I came across content you might find interesting.”

Charlie took a deep breath.

The catalog in his hand was flipped to about a third of the way through, and the page was clearly written in cursive:

One of the Three Great Astrologers – Kurt

Mentally stable, no fatal injuries, recoverable

The illustration was of a man of medium stature sitting on a wooden armchair, dressed in a gray robe, with gaunt cheeks, an ordinary appearance, and an expressionless face.

Besides this, there was no other background.

If this image hadn’t appeared in the Wolf auction catalog, many people would laugh it off and casually toss it under the table. “This is Astrologer Kurt? You could grab a dozen men like this in any city’s bookshop.”

Only those who had really met Kurt knew what the legendary astrologer looked like, and unfortunately, the two people in this room had both met him.

“I’m giving you this not just because of Priscilla, but because of him,” the Duke said.

Honestly, he too was surprised the first time he saw this page because the last time he had seen this man, he was well-hidden in the Green Forest, a place so secretive that not even a bird could enter without permission. He couldn’t imagine how the Wolves had the capability to storm in and capture the astrologer.

“I thought the Green Forest was safe enough,” the Duke said.

He didn’t explain to Charlie that he had never disclosed the astrologer’s location to anyone. He believed the other wouldn’t doubt him on this point.

Because the Duke of Brandenburg had no reason to do such a thing.

Indeed, Charlie nodded.

“The Green Forest is flawless as a hiding place, but it’s not a place humans are allowed to stay for long,” he said. “My deal with him is over, and now it’s no harm telling you—he sought a safe place from me, just for three years, which was the maximum duration I could negotiate with the Heart of the Green Forest. When I took you to visit him, it was the last winter of those three years.”

Dwight stared at him without speaking.

Sometimes, the information revealed in Charlie’s casual remarks made him ponder repeatedly.

Before entering the Green Forest, the Heart of the Green Forest was more of a spiritual symbol among the people, an enigma, including for Dwight, the Lord of Lemena.

Yet, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could communicate and even trade with such an entity, which was more intriguing than his connection with the astrologer.

Charlie understood what Dwight’s look meant, but he wasn’t planning to elaborate.

He knew his business seemed mystical to many, but really, it wasn’t hard to understand.

Besides gods, any being with a will had desires and limitations, and he was merely an intermediary. Many deals utilized the powers of his clients, and in this respect, the Heart of the Green Forest and Kurt were no different to him.

“With his capabilities, he should have been able to find another hiding place after our deal ended,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said softly, his gaze falling on the line “mentally stable”, showing some impatience as he closed the catalog.

Those annotations weren’t describing Kurt’s health but indicating that Kurt’s abilities as an astrologer hadn’t been overly diminished—because astrologers primarily relied on their mental strength to perform, the more stable their mental state, the closer to reality their predictions would be.

On that page, ‘Kurt’ didn’t exist.

If not for the need to differentiate him from the other two existing astrologers, even his name wouldn’t appear in this catalog.

---

The author has something to say:

The term “magic” refers to nu li*; the items in this category of the auction bid on their mastery of magic or racial talents.

*Term in Chinese referring to great effort to strive to try hard.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 75

When Hasting left the room, it was already past two in the morning.

Dwight, still at an age where his bones were growing, theoretically needed plenty of sleep, but the reports from Shivers and Erica had left his thoughts in disarray. The only one who dared to strongly advise him to rest, the old steward, was far away in Pennigra, so the troubled Duke capriciously chose not to go to bed.

The old steward had taken great care in educating Erica. In this unfamiliar land, the girl had arranged the best possible environment for the Duke within her abilities—the wooden carved desk in his room was very similar to the one he used at Brandenburg, and the setup included paper, pens, and a crystal-decorated lamp according to his habits. However, there were also a few additional items he had placed at hand: a tray with mint hard candies next to a palm-sized glass bottle, inside which a tiny, dried bat was soaked in clear water, looking like a strange specimen.

The bottle was procured by Hasting, and the soaking was Charlie’s idea. Whether for cooking or medicine making, soaking was the first step in processing dried goods.

Dwight was ambivalent about it, but the clear water at least served to dust it off, making it look less filthy.

The water in the bottle was changed daily, yet to no effect. The little bat still remained dry and shriveled in the clear liquid, showing no signs of swelling.

Dwight himself couldn’t even explain the peculiar feeling he had when he first saw the dried bat. Sitting on the sofa and staring at the bottle for a while, he suddenly wondered: Could this thing just rot from being soaked?

Thinking this way only made it harder to stop—the thought of a creature rotting in water, the ensuing stench and gathering of microbes was enough to make the Duke’s skin crawl.

He jumped up, instinctively wanting to call Hasting, but stopped himself, glancing at the large grandfather clock in the corner.

“Being your knight must be quite tiring. I’ve never seen Shivers rest,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper once said to him.

At the time, Dwight had scoffed at the idea.

The Dwight family didn’t find pleasure or satisfaction in mistreating those of lower status. Brandenburg was famous for its generosity toward its servants.

Shivers naturally rested when he rested. What was there to question?

Unless there was an emergency…

At this thought, Dwight suddenly grasped the real meaning behind the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s words.

Shivers was always there when needed, and he believed Hasting and the other Brandenburg Knights could do the same.

But how could they manage that if not by being ever vigilant and always on call?

Dwight glared at the grandfather clock for a moment, then picked up the glass bottle with two fingers and quickly went to the small ensuite to pour out the water.

But that alone wasn’t enough.

Seeing that the dried bat wasn’t going to rehydrate, but trusting his intuition, he wasn’t yet ready to throw it away as useless. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the low table in front of the sofa.

It was where the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had sat, leaving in a hurry, forgetting the items he had brought in—several bottles of various types of alcohol and some jerky.

In terms of alcoholic beverages, the customs on the Doran continent were similar to those in Pennigra. The middle and upper classes favored various wines, while ale and other fruit wines were more popular among the lower classes. Charlie had brought both types, and Dwight, after a brief search, also found a small bottle of distilled liquor.

Among several ceramic jars, the glass bottle of distilled liquor was particularly conspicuous; its contents were remarkably clear, indicating its high value.

This was originally a technique for refining floral waters by elves, later expanded into the fields of pharmacology and brewing by spice traders.

Due to the technological threshold, it was expensive and usually sold in small units. Even near the capital, it would be hard to find such fine goods in a place like Ropappas.

That guy took advantage of him whenever he could, so he was generous with his own drinking, but it looked like he hadn’t had enough in the city and had brought some back to mix his own drinks.

Dwight studied it for a moment, popped the cap with one hand, and unhesitatingly poured the entire small bottle of high-proof liquor into the glass bottle.

At least it wouldn’t rot now.

Having dealt with the dried bat, Dwight thought for a moment, then turned his attention back to the bottles of liquor quietly sitting on the low table.

“I apologize. I’ll reimburse you for those bottles of liquor,” Hasting said sternly to Charlie.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper waved it off, a pained look on his face. “It’s alright. It’s just a few bottles of liquor. They’re not worth much.”

Most of what he had brought back were just some bottles of ale he picked up casually, but one of the bottles was a high-concentration Akavitae liquor he had won playing cards at a tavern before sunset—a truly high-end item he hadn’t even had a chance to taste. Who would have thought the young Duke with an elf-like face would drink it all so swiftly!

Speaking of which, that guy really could drink.

He glanced at the Duke, who seemed untroubled by last night’s binge, showing no signs of exhaustion other than a slight lack of sleep—it was completely unnoticeable that he had downed a week’s worth of liquor in one go the night before.

Especially that bottle of Akavitae liquor, which under normal circumstances no one would drink in one sitting, usually mixed with lighter drinks for this purpose, he had even specially bought some mild-tasting fig wine and matching farmhouse cheese.

Now it was all gone.

Hasting didn’t understand his fuss. “It’s not about the value. You’ve compensated for our oversight, and you can take this as our thanks.”

Not noticing that the Duke was too distressed to sleep and needed liquor in the middle of the night to aid his rest was indeed their negligence, and Hasting was already considering preparing some easy-to-drink white wine in the room in addition to the mint candies—of course, not too much. He couldn’t let the Duke develop a dependency on alcohol.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked, finding it a bit funny—this sentence surely came from Hall’s mouth, and hearing it so rigidly recited by Hasting almost made him laugh.

But he held back. A moment’s carelessness the previous night had already made the knight wary of him. It was best not to cause further trouble.

However, at breakfast, he still found an excuse to remind the Duke. “There was one bottle of Akavitae with a very high proof. Should I ask the kitchen to bring some raw tomatoes?”

Although Dwight seemed alright, Charlie was well aware of the strong willpower nobles maintained to uphold appearances. Akavitae was a strong liquor. If consumed too much at once, it could cause a burning sensation in the throat and stomach, and raw tomatoes and milk could alleviate these symptoms.

The Duke looked up at him. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s concerned expression was impeccable.

He lazily said, “I didn’t drink that bottle.”

Besides that bottle of distilled liquor, he had opened and tasted the others, but indulging wasn’t his style.

Charlie was relieved at this response, quickly masking his gaze.

It seemed that the liquor was indeed expensive.

The Duke put down his fork and turned to Hasting. “Bring that bottle of Akavitae here.”

Hasting complied.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t expect he would regain his card game prize (though he didn’t show it). He happily pulled over a plate of sliced ham.

Halfway through eating, Hasting returned with a strange look on his face.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper eagerly looked up, but the young knight didn’t come to him. Instead, he leaned in to whisper a few words to the Duke.

Dwight paused, side-glancing at the object in Hasting’s hand, his eyes narrowing.

Charlie stopped pretending, putting down his fork. “What’s wrong?”

Dwight glanced at him, signaling for Hasting to place the item on the table.

The modestly shaped glass bottle had no decorative carvings and was half-filled with a clear liquid. Sunlight streaming in from the large window illuminated the object soaked inside for all to see.

Charlie was startled. “Isn’t that the dried bat you bought at the March Rabbit Market?”

Upon hearing the term “March Rabbit”, Hasting, stirred by unpleasant memories, quietly stepped back.

“Using liquor for soaking… It’s not a bad idea,” Charlie said, taking the glass bottle and examining it closely in the light. “The purity of Akavitae isn’t low. It has some antibacterial properties, but it’s best if the alcohol completely covers it.”

Dwight said, “I did indeed fill the bottle with liquor last night.”

Charlie immediately looked up at him.

The Duke, expressionless, affirmed, “I wasn’t drunk. I remember correctly. It’s definitely true.”

“What’s going on here then?” Shiloh almost leaned half his body over the table to look. “Before, when it was soaked in water, there was no reaction at all, right? Does it absorb when switched to liquor?”

“It does look a bit swollen.” The Duke observed the bottle closely.

The dried bat inside had visibly plumped up a bit, lacking the previously dry and brittle touch.

Following that, Hasting topped off the bottle with the rest of the liquor, and they decided to place the bottle in a large drawer by the wall to observe it for a few more hours.

To ensure there was enough liquor, Dwight had Eugene go and buy all the Akavitae he could find in the market.

It was broad daylight, and no tavern would be open at this hour, and such high-end liquor wouldn’t be widely available on the common market. This sort of task was indeed something only Eugene could handle.

It turned out that alcohol did have an effect on the strange, dried bat, and the higher the purity, the more effective it was (Eugene managed to buy the liquor the same day, and smartly purchased a few different types as well).

After soaking for a day and a night, the dried bat—or rather, it could no longer be called that—had absorbed the liquor and gradually swelled and plumped up. The parts that could be recognized were noticeably different from a bat: it had a much longer neck, two hind limbs, and a hooked tail, all previously curled up and wrapped by bat-like membranous wings.

Its absorption of the liquor was almost desperate. A full bottle of Akavitae could be completely absorbed within five to six hours, so Shiloh had to transfer it from the bottle to a large cast iron basin.

“What… is this thing?” Eugene muttered.

Now that it had fully stretched out, even he could tell this wasn’t a normal bat—ordinary bats couldn’t be rehydrated with liquor.

Dwight studied the basin intently, ignoring him.

It was now late, but nearly everyone was still gathered in the living room.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said in a low voice, “We can’t be sure yet, but it might be a very, very rare creature.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Shiloh commented, nudging Hasting, who shook his head, indicating he hadn’t either.

“This is a type of draconic creature called a Pluto Owl, commonly known as a “wyvern”, Charlie explained. “These creatures are incredibly fast flyers, difficult to catch, and difficult to reproduce. There have been no updates in human records about them for at least fifty years.”

Hasting asked, “Is it the kind of thing that would be carved on a carriage?”

Charlie nodded. “Because the Pluto Owl is so fast, humans like to use its image on transportation decorations as a blessing, but because they are so hard to capture and due to artistic rendition, the popular images differ somewhat from its true appearance.”

Hearing this, Shiloh raised a key question. “So, can it live like this if we keep it soaked?”

Such a rare creature, of course, would be more valuable alive than as a specimen.

Dwight’s gaze finally shifted from the basin to those gathered around.

“There are no records of Pluto Owls being tamed by humans. No one knows what they eat or even their lifespan,” he said. “Recorded adult specimens include a wingspan of 5-8 meters. This one must still be in its juvenile phase. Its limbs are already beginning to regain elasticity.”

Since leaving Ropappas, Charlie hadn’t seen Dwight this invigorated, prompting him to smile as well. “Indeed, that’s possible. You’re quite lucky.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 74

It was as if they had agreed to bring bad news together. Erica also didn’t bring any good news.

Before the return journey, Dwight had resolved to arrange a private meeting with Priscilla, and Erica had hurried back to Syriacochi specifically to personally arrange this matter.

But it was a step too late. By the time Erica arrived in Syriacochi, Count Lestrop had already left the capital.

The suspicion of murder against Queen Christine hadn’t yet been cleared, and the palace, where the murder had occurred, was not a suitable venue for grandly celebrating the King’s birthday. The annual celebration was hastily concluded, and it seemed reasonable for the nobles, ostensibly unrelated to this incident, to leave the capital one after another.

Interestingly, not many people left the capital at this time.

Since it was already spring, the social season in Mokwen was about to begin. Until the unbearable heat of midsummer arrived, the nobility would usually gather in several major cities within the country, passing this pleasant time with various balls, dinners, competitions, and concerts.

The excuse of the Earl’s manor was that the “Countess was unwell” and they needed to return to the south.

However, according to Erica’s investigation, the fact that the Countess was pregnant wasn’t deliberately concealed within the manor, but the official use of such an ambiguous explanation was very intriguing.

However, Erica took timely measures—thanks to the nobility’s borderless penchant for fussiness, traveling in full regalia (including the ladies) meant their travel speed was hardly faster than walking.

By the time Erica’s convoy reached Syriacochi, Lestrop and his party had already left the city three days earlier, but in reality, they had only traveled half a day’s journey by fast horse, which made it easy for Erica to catch up. After waiting two days for the right moment, she finally managed to get a message through to Priscilla.

Although it was unknown what Priscilla felt when she learned that her brother hadn’t returned to Pennigra, her reply was very brief, just two words.

White Bridge.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper stared at the piece of paper the size of a fingertip that Erica had brought back completely intact, with only these words written in elegant handwriting.

Is this a case of fearing what might come?

He wasn’t surprised that Priscilla would go to White Bridge. Honestly, at this point, it was normal for anyone to go to White Bridge. Even a penniless beggar could find something of value there to use as a bargaining chip and try their luck at achieving all they could desire, let alone a noble with wealth.

He had no doubt that if there had never been an opportunity, the Duke wouldn’t mind a sibling reunion at White Bridge.

The problem was that he didn’t want to go at all.

White Bridge was a place of mixed fortunes with too many variables. Attending an auction at White Bridge was completely different from walking on the edge of the Doran continent.

Decisively, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper neatly folded Erica’s letter and pushed it back across to Dwight.

He said, “It’s getting late. Good night.”

Hasting looked at him suspiciously. This series of actions was too obviously feigned, and he didn’t look at all like a man who hadn’t sobered up from his drink.

If Charlie knew what Hasting was thinking, he would have countered: seeing that word, even if he had drunk two large barrels of strong liquor, he would have bristled and scrambled away, far and wide.

This was almost a conditioned reflex.

Dwight didn’t heed his words. It was already past midnight, and he didn’t want to waste time on pointless haggling, especially since he hadn’t yet figured out exactly what to do.

No one had said they were going yet but look at the way he had pricked up his ears.

Dwight’s initial plan was to have a secret meeting with Priscilla in the capital to clear up how much she understood about her situation so he could plan his next steps.

But now that she had already left the city, unless he could stake out their next planned stop in advance, it was nearly impossible to have a talk on the road.

It wasn’t that the Earl’s convoy was particularly well-guarded. After all, this was still within the capital’s sphere of influence, where security was relatively good.

Mainly, on the road, noblewomen typically didn’t leave the carriage, and even when they stopped to rest occasionally, they didn’t leave the sight of others. Even Dr. Salman would have a hard time getting through the many servants to talk face-to-face with Priscilla.

Charlie didn’t want to interrupt Dwight’s thoughts. He only wanted to escape this dangerous area, taking advantage of the other’s distraction to quickly stand up and leave.

Dwight didn’t stop him, but Charlie took an extra look at a package that had come with the letter before leaving.

The package was still unopened, wrapped in two layers of waterproof parchment, square and upright, looking like a hardcover book.

Without asking, he could guess what it was—likely the catalog for this year’s White Bridge auction.

Erica’s thoroughness was evident. This catalog was delivered to Dwight along with Priscilla’s reply.

This wasn’t the custom catalog sent annually by the Wolf family to the nobles of various continents, but a standard edition sold to the public. It was probably something Erica had bought on the spot.

The auction catalog was also one of the Wolf family’s special products. Each year, they prepared special auction manuals for potential customers to lock in their targets in advance.

Custom catalogs were only sent to well-known and wealthy individuals on each continent, each with a unique binding, while the standard catalogs were sold to everyone. Whether or not one was on the Wolfs’ client list, one had to pay a hefty price to get one.

Because of the auction’s large scale, variety, and rarity of items, the auction catalog was also nicknamed the Dictionary of Rarities. Collectors considered the catalog itself a valuable item worth purchasing and collecting—honestly, just the catalog itself was quite expensive.

Charlie had even heard that some auction items included the Wolf family’s auction catalogs, with prices determined by the year and content, while the materials and craftsmanship used to make the catalog were of no concern.

Erica had thought everything through, preparing for Dwight’s possible interest in also going to White Bridge, getting this year’s catalog in hand for her master.

Putting aside the White Bridge for a moment, Charlie, who had a hoarding habit, was actually quite interested in that catalog.

They were real masters of amassing wealth. Compared to the auction, their pervasive money-making methods were more of a hallmark of this family.

But now wasn’t the time to discuss this…

As the rabbit-headed shopkeeper calculated his options and quickly walked past the sofa to leave, forgetting the fine wines he had brought, he wasn’t keen to hear more about White Bridge from the Duke.

Perhaps too deep in thought, he was startled by a figure almost leaning against the door as he stepped out.

“Whoa!” His second scare of the night.

The figure stepped back to make room for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper to pass.

“Oh, it’s you,” Charlie said vaguely, thinking here was another Brandenburg Knight standing silently in the dark.

Obviously, after Hasting entered, another knight had taken his place, waiting for the Duke to finish his business.

If it were daytime, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could easily call out this knight’s name, but the alcohol in his system hadn’t completely metabolized yet, and it took him a little time to accurately recall this knight, who didn’t often appear beside the Duke.

“Hall.” He tipped his hat and closed the door behind him with a reverse swing.

The knight named Hall had gentle, smiling eyes, dark brown short hair, and a calm demeanor that seemed older than his years, making him appear very reliable.

“Mr. Charlie,” Hall greeted with a smile, deepening his impression of the man with the rabbit head.

Unlike typical nobility, their master, Duke Dwight, disliked being surrounded by attendants wherever he went. Unless necessary, he (ostensibly) usually had no more than one knight accompanying him, and old-fashioned family habits like needing two maids just to smoke a cigarette were never seen with him.

Thus, apart from Knight Commander Shivers, other Brandenburg Knights rarely appeared continuously at the Duke’s side. Similarly, this time, aside from Hasting temporarily taking over the commander’s duties and the errand-running Shiloh, he and the other knights seldom interacted with the group.

Having briefly met at the initial gathering and after so many days, he still accurately called out his own name.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper was unusually slow to react tonight, and since Hall didn’t show his thoughts on his face, he merely patted the other’s arm genuinely and said, “Thank you for your hard work,” before walking away.

Unexpectedly, he had only taken a few steps when Hall stopped him.

The young knight stepped forward, looking into the eyes of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper under the wall light.

“Are you drunk, sir?” he asked quietly, with concern. “The kitchen stove is kept lit all night. I can have a maid prepare some hot soup for you. It might make sleeping more comfortable.”

Charlie stood still, replying after a second, “Thank you. I only had a little. It wasn’t very good, but…”

He suddenly faltered, unable to remember what he was going to say next.

After leaving the Duke’s room, his mind started to blur again.

“It’s already one,” Hall said. “You’ve been out since seven after dinner. I’m afraid you’ve had more than just a little to drink.”

He insisted on ringing for a manservant, asking him to escort the rabbit-headed shopkeeper to his room and bring up some hot soup.

“I cannot leave my post,” he said, slightly apologetic. “Please watch your step.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper found it hard to refuse such thoughtful gestures, especially since they were well arranged—waiting until the night manservant came over before heading upstairs to his room.

As he turned to go up the stairs, as if by some unspoken agreement, the relaxed, familiar expressions on both Charlie and Hall’s faces disappeared.

The manservant, tending to the candlestick and watching his step, didn’t notice the expression on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s face—after all, who studies the expression on a rabbit head late at night?

But that was exactly what a knight of Duke Dwight would do.

Charlie returned to his room, obediently changed into his pajamas, and lay in the dark with his eyes open, recalling the brief conversation only after the manservant had left.

Such negligence, he thought.

If he had been a bit more alert after leaving, his first reaction wouldn’t have been to… covertly observe the Duke’s knights.

And this Hall was quite different from Hasting.

Although Hasting always wore a stern face, it was easy to discern his thoughts. Hall, on the other hand, probably did the opposite. He was accustomed to using a polite and impeccable demeanor to hide his real thoughts. The moment his name was called, alarms probably went off in his mind—but one wouldn’t know it from looking at his face.

Charlie rubbed his furry face with a hand, sighing deeply.

He had indeed gone out to drink tonight. For an adult man to head out alone at night and find a small tavern for a game of cards was normal.

The smell of alcohol was real, but the process was fake.

In reality, he had found a secluded corner, cloaked himself, and drank alone all night, waiting to turn back into a rabbit-headed man.

If the Duke knew he called the process of changing from human to rabbit “recovery”, he would surely think there was something wrong with his head.

Charlie burrowed entirely under the covers.

Elena’s imperfect curse had cycles, and after the sun truly set, the curse would occasionally malfunction briefly.

If he were in Maplewood, he wouldn’t be as jumpy as tonight, almost wishing to run up the mountain like a werewolf to wait out the transformation, but this was Doran.

On this continent, this face wasn’t unique.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 73

The reports from Shivers and Erica arrived almost simultaneously.

Hasting, who was temporarily taking over as the Knight Commander, stood outside the door in contemplation.

It was nearing midnight. Since each bedroom was equipped with a small bathroom, the corridor was unlit. The young knight stood in place for a full five minutes without deciding to act.

Until someone came into the corridor—

“Whoa!” Charlie was startled and raised his hand to steady his top hat.

Hasting watched him quietly.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked around suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

In the dead of night, standing in the corridor like a statue, suddenly startling someone.

Hasting said nothing, watching as Charlie clicked the light on the wall on.

The conditions here were much better than in Bonan Town or even Ropappas. One could use these lights that didn’t need to be lit with fire after registering. Places like Lemena, with better economic conditions, also used these kinds of lights. They contained a type of mineral that glowed upon contact with air. The airflow could be controlled by a valve to turn it on or off, with brightness similar to a candle.

In fact, Hasting didn’t need the light to see the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. His night vision was quite exceptional.

Seeing the shopkeeper’s gaze fall on his own chest, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper generously picked out a palm-sized bottle from his collection. “Want some?”

Hasting shook his head. Though Shivers was easygoing, he was strict with the knightly discipline, and drinking wasn’t allowed outside of vacations.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, who had wandered out for a drink in the middle of the night, scratched his face and asked, “Are you on guard?”

If it was during work, he indeed shouldn’t drink.

Hasting shook his head.

“I have something to report to the Duke,” he said.

“I see.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper nodded. “Then I won’t bother you.”

He carried a bag of wine and jerky towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. As he turned to go upstairs, he saw from the corner of his eye that Hasting was still standing still.

Charlie: “???”

Hasting watched as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper came back the same way.

“Aren’t you going in?” Charlie gestured towards the duke’s door.

Hasting hesitated.

“The Duke has already gone to bed.” He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to wake the Duke at this time.

If it were Shivers or the old steward, they would definitely know what to do, but since both the Knight Commander and the Duke himself were still quite young and hadn’t thought about grooming a successor, Hasting, who was temporarily taking over, was somewhat at a loss.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s eyelids were heavy, but his naturally helpful nature made him curiously ask, “What do you need to see him for?”

“Erica’s letter.” Hasting replied subconsciously before realizing he might have been too honest.

In the next second, he watched, wide-eyed, as the rabbit-headed shopkeeper knocked on the door—an action so unexpected that Hasting didn’t even have time to stop him.

“If it’s about this, he’d want to know right away,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper added, seeing Hasting’s expression. “Don’t worry.”

Hasting: “…How much have you had to drink tonight?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tilted his head thoughtfully. “Just a little.”

So, he’s now apparently normal but actually a confused drunk… Hasting felt like a fool for seriously conversing with him.

Now, all he could do was pray that the Duke hadn’t been woken by the knock, but Hasting quickly stopped the rabbit-headed shopkeeper from knocking again. Before he could say anything, the door suddenly opened from the inside.

Dwight looked at them—Hasting was holding Charlie by both hands, while Charlie shook his head and tried to reach out his left hand to continue knocking at the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked coldly.

Hasting quickly released the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, only then realizing that the letter in his hand had been crumpled.

The Duke also saw the letters and noticed Charlie behind Hasting making faces, signaling him to pay attention to the letters.

“No one’s stopping you from speaking,” he said.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, “Hasting wouldn’t let me.”

Hasting cursed inwardly without showing any emotion on his face.

But as Charlie said, the Duke didn’t dwell on them disturbing him in the middle of the night. From his silent taking of the letters and walking back into his bedroom, it seemed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s judgment was correct.

But why was his judgment correct?

Hasting was puzzled—he had been chosen for the Brandenburg Knights at fourteen and had always been the Duke’s close guard. Although not as inseparable as the Knight Commander, he certainly spent more years with the Duke than most.

Could he really be so obtuse that someone who had only been in contact with the Duke for half a year understood better than him?

The young knight was a bit shaken.

The next second, something even more shaking happened.

Hasting saw the rabbit-headed shopkeeper look around and then also step into the Duke’s room!

How could he just stroll into the Duke’s room in the middle of the night?

…Something was wrong. The Duke wasn’t a sheltered maiden, but the important point was, no matter the time, one shouldn’t just enter the Duke’s room without permission!

Dwight seemed not to have realized how his knightly values were almost shattered.

If they were still in Brandenburg, he could certainly recite three hundred articles of noble etiquette and respond immediately to any potentially offensive actions.

But please, he had left Lemena several months ago.

During these months, he had slept in wind-leaking churches in disrepair, stayed in greasy farmhouses, and lost count of the nights spent under the stars in a carriage. Even the most pampered princess of the empire, after such trials, would surely forget such outdated rules as “ensuring you haven’t eaten strongly flavored food, haven’t exercised vigorously within two hours, change out of your coat and soft shoes before entering, and wait for an indoor response before the maid opens the door”.

Hasting hesitated outside the door for a while, then followed Charlie inside.

The lights in the room were turned on, and Dwight sat in a hard armchair, reading the letters. His expression was just as tense while reading both letters.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper conscientiously sat on the sofa, even patting the space beside him, signaling Hasting to come over as well.

Hasting didn’t want to deal with this drunkard and walked directly behind the Duke, maintaining a distance where he could assist immediately without being able to clearly see the contents of the letters.

So young, yet so staid.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper shrugged and casually piled up the stuff he brought on the low table in front of the sofa.

Because the magic stones were with Shivers and Erica, their letters were carried by carrier pigeons. Dwight wasn’t the first to receive the letters, but the contents they reported were important enough.

“Priscilla is pregnant.” Dwight put down the letters, his face changing.

If time were rolled back a few months, he would have been pleased to hear this news sitting in Brandenburg, and he would have prepared the most novel gift for his nephew to be sent immediately to the southern territories. Given the long journey, the gift might just arrive in time for the child’s birth.

But it just had to be now.

At a time when he had learned there was a group of lunatics in Doran trying to create a “Holy Grail”, Priscilla got pregnant.

Once she had a child, the possibility of her and Dwight returning to Pennigra would become extremely slim.

The Duke couldn’t help but feel a headache.

He was reluctant to assume that his brother-in-law (though he was reluctant to call him that) was also a member of that group of lunatics, but the astrologer’s response hung over Priscilla like a sharp blade, unsure when it would fall—and he had watched, helpless to intervene.

“You needn’t worry too much,” Charlie said, taking a moment to organize his words because of the alcohol. “We’ve discussed this, and Lestrop isn’t a fool to do something stupid. He wouldn’t joke about his own offspring.”

He emphasized the word “offspring” to remind him of the difference between the woman who died in the King’s room and the Queen, who, despite suspicions, remained unharmed.

“He better be that smart,” Dwight said coldly. “If he dares to do so, and Priscilla dies, he won’t live either.”

“Calm down.” Charlie, understanding how important this only remaining relative was to the young Duke, couldn’t help but soothe. “Even if things go to the worst step, Miss Priscilla will also…”

Before he could finish, Dwight flicked a finger, and a folded letter slid across the table, striking Charlie’s hand.

Charlie, puzzled, opened it and skimmed through it rapidly.

—Greetings.

From February 27 to March 1, a total of seven female bodies were exhumed. Based on the extent of skeletal deformations and the bloodstains on the burial shrouds, all were women who had recently given birth.

Thorn Manor remains as isolated as ever, making it difficult to inspect through external channels, and secretly sneaking in yields limited information because, besides their strong defensiveness, the farmworkers at the manor start at dawn and stop at dusk, rarely interacting even with the mansion.

According to a water seller, for some unknown reason, since February, the farm has further increased its isolation from the outside world. Day and night, people patrol around the mansion; one time, I even nearly encountered them in the forest at 1 in the morning.

But that time, they weren’t disposing of bodies. It seemed more like they were ensuring that no one was investigating that area of the forest… I covered my tracks well. I believe I wasn’t discovered.

…Yitzfa has also appeared in the city, and I am certain his target is that manor.

He’s trying to contact the manor through local upper-class connections. It is still unknown what secrets he’s interested in, but he seems determined to find out.

The latter part of the letter was a list of the city’s notables for reference only, and the backside was a rough plan of the mountain city hand-drawn by the Knight Commander, along with maps of the city, the manor, and the rivers.

Shivers wasn’t part of the last conversation between Dwight and Charlie, but he sharply sensed the subtle connections between several bizarre incidents since entering the Kingdom of Mokwen and the manor, and so listed some of his suspicions.

In the view of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, the most valued part of this report by the Duke were those suspicions.

The Knight Commander believed that regardless of the manor’s purpose in persecuting those innocent women, it undoubtedly failed, and since there were no other injuries or signs of poisoning on the women, he surmised that the only outcome of these failures was death.

---

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