Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 72

Yitzfa was undoubtedly a handsome young man.

The baggy shirt that Mrs. Doug’s butler had found for him on short notice hung loosely on his frame, making him appear somewhat fragile and painfully endearing.

Shivers watched indifferently as the ladies chattered away, each one eagerly suggesting various ways to dress up Yitzfa. The multitude of fashion ideas was dazzling.

Had he not been so confident in his own memory, the Knight Commander might have almost thought he had recognized the wrong person—not only because Yitzfa hadn’t shown any sign of recognition since entering, but also because this forlorn young man bore little resemblance to the last time he saw him at a grand lady’s banquet in Mokwen, where Yitzfa’s demeanor was that of a prized Persian cat.

Though his appearance hadn’t changed significantly, only the clothes and accessories were different, the impression he made was utterly altered, especially his flawless demeanor and manners. If it were someone else, they might start doubting their judgment or even wonder if this was actually Yitzfa’s lost twin.

But Shivers never put much stock in appearances. He believed that a person’s soul didn’t change with their outward appearance. Overemphasis on physical features could indeed cloud one’s judgment.

Just like his penchant for reveling in female attention for his good looks hadn’t changed at all, Shivers thought (not realizing he was doing much the same).

Meanwhile, he harbored doubts about Yitzfa’s motives for appearing here at this time.

Though they had met only once, given Yitzfa’s nonchalant familiarity with luxurious living and rare treasures, it was unlikely he had whimsically decided to play a game of stray dog in this remote mountain town.

Which kingdom’s capital would have idle noblewomen?

The mineral-rich Simis Kingdom, with its highly developed crafts, produced most of the continent’s finest and most luxurious adornments; the Raubna Kingdom, which monopolized the canals, was a hub for merchants from all over, where the latest and trendiest items could be seen; and the academic hub of Lafordzi, undoubtedly the artistic sanctuary of Doran, was home to the top academic institutions. Yitzfa, with his capabilities, could thrive in any of these major nations.

Yet here he was, in the same place as Shivers.

What was here to interest a Fox?

Aside from Thorn Manor, Shivers could think of nothing notable about this place—if Yitzfa was also targeting the manor, it only suggested that there were indeed significant issues at Thorn Manor.

Shivers couldn’t help but think about the physically demanding work he had been doing at night, which left his arms and legs sore.

Yitzfa sat on a velvet footstool. His slender jaw and neck gave him the appearance of a minor. Mrs. Doug had specially prepared a pot of salty milk tea for him, and everyone energetically encouraged him to drink it hot to sweat out any chill.

He seemed a bit shy, and his bewildered demeanor made all the ladies dote on him. Mrs. Doug had already decided to have him try on a coat tailored for her husband.

“That coat’s color matches your hair well,” Mrs. Doug said gently. “I think that shirt is still a bit thin.”

Shivers was considering whether to give him a private signal to talk, when the door was knocked, and a man with a meticulously groomed handlebar mustache followed the maid in.

“I told them, look—they don’t care. They just want to dress up that poor kid in all sorts of pretty clothes and feed him sweets. They won’t be satisfied until they’ve played with him like a doll.” The man laughed. “I came up, and sure enough, it’s exactly as I said. Ladies, please, let him warm up and then let him come down for a talk.”

Mrs. Doug pretended to be offended, retorting sharply, “What are you saying? The child was freezing. Of course, we need to dry his hair and put him in clean clothes. We’re not treating him like a doll. What are you planning to do? Call him down to sit in a smoke-filled room to listen to your talk, then cough up pneumonia?”

Her words clearly relieved everyone, and the ladies all laughed, including Mrs. Dolly.

Mr. Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Dolly and I asked him on the carriage. He’s here to find family. His sister supposedly works at a manor in the west suburbs—Mr. Carl from downstairs talked about expanding his vineyard with them last year. Maybe he has some connections.”

Hearing this, Shivers glanced at Mr. Peter and deliberately avoided looking at Yitzfa’s current expression.

“How do you feel, dear?” A lady holding Yitzfa’s hand asked with concern. “If you’re still cold, don’t mind them. We’ll take care of you. You can find your sister later, when you’re better.”

Yitzfa looked at her, then at Mr. Peter.

“I feel much better,” he said quietly.

Everyone understood his meaning and his desire to find his family, so they let Mr. Peter take him downstairs.

The Dougs’ smoking room was at the end of the hallway on the first floor, next to the study.

Sophisticated homes were designed for relaxation and privacy, with soundproofing and privacy measures in such rooms. If not invited, even making an excuse to wander the hallway now wouldn’t help overhear the conversation inside.

Mr. Peter didn’t invite Shivers, which didn’t surprise the Knight Commander—he was never very popular with his peers.

But there were other ways to manage the situation.

With Yitzfa gone, the ladies suddenly felt a bit listless, though they needed no prompting to enthusiastically continue discussing.

Mrs. Dolly, having been the first to encounter Yitzfa, naturally became the center of conversation, though she wasn’t very knowledgeable about her husband’s business dealings.

“He said on the carriage that his sister had sent word she could introduce him to a job in the city,” Mrs. Dolly explained. “But the poor boy had never traveled far, had little money, and after arriving here, found that his sister was no longer at the address given. Someone told him she had moved to the outskirts, but by then he was cold and hungry and had collapsed by the roadside.”

This conversation elicited sighs of sympathy from the ladies who had always lived in comfort, as they felt deeply for the hardship Mrs. Dolly described. Mrs. Doug, emotional due to her pregnancy, even had tears in her eyes.

“Poor child!” Mrs. Doug exclaimed. “So, he is homeless now?”

“No, Peter and I will take care of him. It’s nothing,” Mrs. Dolly said nonchalantly, yet her expression couldn’t hide a hint of pride—a common reaction when discussing financial matters, as her husband’s family was quite wealthy among her circle of friends.

In fact, one or two others present half-wanted to take Yitzfa in, of course, under the guise of “charity”.

For them, supporting Yitzfa was like owning a prized thoroughbred horse. The expenses were nothing compared to the accolades they’d receive in return.

Besides, in any country, a beauty like Yitzfa was highly sought after. It wasn’t often one encountered such a face, perhaps once in a decade, and those accustomed to the pleasures of life instinctively thought they should possess it while regretting why they weren’t the ones who found him first.

But since Mrs. Dolly had already expressed her intent to take him in, it would be quite unseemly for the others to dispute her claim.

Under a cloud of regret, someone brought up the old topic again, subtly inquiring whether Shivers had plans to extend his stay.

Shivers couldn’t help but laugh—he’d used the excuse of recovering from an illness contracted during winter travels to explain his temporary stay here, and he wasn’t the first to insinuate an invitation.

If he were truly just traveling, such suggestions might be considered, but he had pressing matters to attend to now.

He skillfully steered the conversation back to Yitzfa. “If he only knows about the manor in the suburbs, how do Peter and the others know which one it is exactly? There must be more than a couple of manors outside the city, right?”

“Oh, it’s like this. Peter was too embarrassed to speak plainly earlier,” Mrs. Dolly sipped her tea and explained. “Although we don’t know which specific manor her sister went to, except for Mr. Albert’s family, who went to sea, we pretty much have connections to ask around in the nearby manors. It’s a bit of a hassle to look for a working girl, but it’s not impossible. But Peter is worried that her sister might be in ‘that’ manor.”

Mrs. Doug’s face lit up, hiding her mouth behind her fan as she chuckled. “Oh my, not ‘that’ one, right?”

A lady curiously asked, “Which one are you talking about?”

“The one that never opens its doors,” another confidently said. “One autumn, Richard and some cousins went fox hunting, and it started pouring halfway through. I tell you, they were completely soaked.”

Since there was no place to shelter from the rain in the countryside, they had to follow the river, and they were overjoyed to see a manor. Hoping to borrow a bit of hospitality to dry their boots and cloaks, they approached the estate. However, the servant who answered the door didn’t even let them inside, even though they were willing to pay.

Frustrated, Richard and his group tried to seek shelter in the barns, only to find the peasants as rude and unreasonable as their employer, looking at them as if they were a bunch of thieves. Only a greedy middle-aged woman dismissed them with two waterproof cloths, in exchange for a well-made snuff box and a dead fox they had.

Soaked and muddy, Richard and his companions barely made it back to the city. He immediately complained to his wife, saying he had never been treated so rudely in his life.

Worse, the prolonged exposure to rain caused him to catch a severe fever, causing him to miss two important meetings. The loss in terms of money and energy was immeasurable.

“I’ve never heard of such a place.” Mrs. Doug widened her eyes in shock.

“In my opinion, they’re all a bunch of eccentrics. No need to deal with them,” concluded the lady. “If you’re looking for a job, that’s not a good place at all. You’d be better off coming to my house to organize hats.”

Her words resonated well, as the girls from Thorn Manor indeed often met tragic fates.

But surely, Yitzfa didn’t actually have a sister there. Shivers didn’t know what lies he had spun, but after these conversations, his motives were becoming very clear.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 71

Shivers deftly ran down the hillside along the path, his dark cloak rising behind him like a small flag.

Although it was still quite dark, he effortlessly dodged protruding old tree roots and thorny bushes, reaching a large oak tree where his horse from the journey was tied.

It was getting a bit late.

He mounted his horse, looked back at the woods once more, and confirmed in his mind that the digging tools had indeed been destroyed before he rode across the hedge, not looking back, and hurried towards the city.

Recent travels had made him very familiar with the road. Although he started later than planned, he still saw the city gates before dawn—a city built against a mountain, with stone walls spiraling up the mountain body, every thirty to forty steps marked by a square arch, but without doors.

This design was meant for ease of defense during war, as the narrow gateways allowed only two horses to pass abreast, and in emergencies, rows of barriers could be quickly dropped down, which was very convenient.

However, since the main city on the mountain had limited space and the population increased during a period of stability, the people began to expand outwards. These gates rarely used barriers anymore and gradually became a nuisance during peacetime. Not only did they restrict the width of flatbed carts used for delivering goods, but they also limited the size of wealthy people’s carriages.

But this greatly facilitated those with ulterior motives, like Shivers.

His speed was so fast that even though a few early-rising water carriers climbed the stone walls to look down upon hearing the rapid hoofbeats, they could only see a shadow flash by like lightning and then disappear into the darkness.

Vanilla Street was still asleep in the dawn light, with only one or two particularly meticulous large houses showing faint candlelight flickering, but the movements were very subtle, as if a silent ghost was wandering through the houses—those were early-rising maids, quietly taking care of pets and preparing everything needed for their masters to start the day.

Shivers led his horse into the stable attached to a two-story building. He didn’t light any lamps and fed the horse in the dark, then entered the house through the back door.

His hired maid’s room was near the entrance hall, so he didn’t disturb her.

By the time the plump middle-aged woman knocked on his door with a slice of bread, Shivers had already changed into his morning robe, looking as if he had just been woken up.

In another two hours, the handyman arranged by his landlord would come to clean.

Shivers sat by the bay window on the first floor, sipping tea with the curtains drawn high. The morning sun streamed through the glass, making his blond hair shine brilliantly, almost as if he himself was glowing.

This sight had recently become a hot topic in the neighborhood—after an early-rising cook saw it, the Knight Commander’s enhanced beauty spread quickly like a spilled cup of tea. A few days later, some high-born ladies and young misses even had their carriages detour past his door as a pretense of an afternoon outing, but most women, who typically rose in the afternoon, missed the spectacle.

No one could tell that this man wandered in the rural woods almost daily, constantly digging, making holes, and… examining corpses.

When he had passed by the manor with Eugene, he had learned of the wicked acts committed there. Many innocent lives were lost, and the riverside woods were a dumping ground for bodies.

Given the secluded nature of Thorn Manor, infiltrating it in a short time wasn’t feasible, so he instead rented a house in town to keep under the radar, spending several nights in the woods searching for the burial sites—he wasn’t a professional doctor, but his basic medical knowledge was enough to determine obvious causes of death and characteristics.

He had exhumed all the bodies he could find that weren’t buried too deeply. The difficulty of digging in winter, coupled with the low temperatures slowing down decomposition, allowed him to nearly figure out a common trait among the victims of Thorn Manor: they were all women, and most had given birth.

The Knight Commander lowered his eyes and seemed to be intently reading the morning paper spread out on the table, but in reality, he was fighting the fatigue from his late-night activities, trying to piece together more useful information, until the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the cleaning staff assigned by his landlord.

He had rented this house, situated at the edge of a wealthy area, under the guise of a traveler, and the landlord was a very rich merchant.

His wife, a naive woman of wealth, had easily agreed to temporarily rent out this unused house to him, likely charmed by his handsome blond hair. She also generously provided a cook-maid and, additionally, a day laborer for cleaning, paid by the day.

This arrangement was somewhat modest, but Shivers’ persona as an unknown traveler made it seem reasonable and also reduced the risk of being discovered during his nocturnal outings.

The maid who originally came to help was a round-faced brunette young girl, but for some reason, she was replaced by the current middle-aged woman after two days.

Women’s excessive enthusiasm was no surprise to Shivers. To some extent, he was quite adept at leveraging this favor—however, he maintained that he was different from those who explicitly traded charm for a luxurious life. If it weren’t for work factors, he would rather engage in a purely romantic journey with women, unrelated to benefits.

But extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

The maid added a small portion of salt-flavored baked biscuits and also handed him a letter brought by the janitor: from his landlady.

The generous woman had just become pregnant, so her emotions were somewhat unstable, often needing the comfort of friends, thus almost daily hosting semi-formal tea parties at her home, which were quite lively.

Her undisturbed husband had found a reason to leave town, leaving the domain to a group of chattering women, intensifying the wife’s activities—this was the third invitation Shivers had received.

Inviting a single male tenant to a women’s tea party was somewhat inappropriate, but the landlord couple didn’t mind.

Having a knightly title, Shivers understood why—the landlady was essentially a naive woman, eager for joy. Her enthusiasm for the handsome tenant was probably not entirely romantic but more akin to the excitement of showing off a prized pet to all her friends.

Moreover, these gatherings weren’t exclusively attended by Shivers. There were also several couples present, so even though Shivers’s handsome appearance stirred quite a discussion in their social circle, the landlord made no comment.

Typically, male guests would play cards in the smoking room during the tea party, while Shivers was often invited to sit at the ladies’ table for conversation.

This arrangement was somewhat unconventional, but since it was a private, informal gathering and not widely publicized, no one made a fuss about it.

As a gentleman, Shivers didn’t mind chatting with a few ladies. Unlike most men, he didn’t consider frequent tea parties to be a wasteful extravagance.

After all, it was because men imposed too many restrictions on their wives and daughters, not allowing them to engage in truly meaningful work, and then turned around to criticize them for being idle.

Because of Erica, Shivers was well aware of the heights women could reach, so even though he knew their attitudes weren’t entirely serious, he wasn’t upset by it—especially since he genuinely found women charming and didn’t mind being used as a way to pass the time.

Unlike some shameless individuals who swindled women’s wealth.

Shivers was reminded of the Fox he had seen at the banquet.

That man’s haughty demeanor was eye-opening. Shivers had never seen anyone manage to be so choosy and arrogantly reliant on someone else’s support.

This was a bit unusual for Shivers, who adhered to chivalrous values. He preferred to go along with their conversations, telling amusing jokes to make them laugh…

“Green?” Mrs. Doug interjected, puzzled.

Shivers came back to his senses, showing a warm smile.

“What were you thinking about?” Mrs. Doug gently tapped his hand with her fan.

“I was thinking that the rain came quite suddenly, hoping Mrs. Dolly and the others brought umbrellas so they wouldn’t get wet,” he said softly.

Mrs. Doug’s slight displeasure immediately dissipated, and she also looked out the window. “Yes, it’s going to get colder again with the rain… How strange today is. Dolly and Peter are never late.”

This was Green’s second time attending their tea party, but Mrs. Doug wasn’t surprised he had already remembered all her friends’ names—even though he didn’t have a title and his finances seemed slightly strained, this charming tenant was a true gentleman.

Mrs. Doug felt a bit proud. She kept her house well-maintained, never allowing it to look old and neglected due to disuse, for which her husband paid extra each year for lawn care and indoor cleaning, but it was well worth it.

Didn’t Green choose her house for this very reason?

This young traveler was suave and well-traveled, and Mrs. Doug could hardly keep herself from bragging about this handsome tenant to all her friends, except for those who were particularly outrageous and liked to stir up trouble; she did not want them doing anything indecent at her dignified tea parties, leading Mr. Green to think her friends were of that sort.

“Isn’t that Dolly’s carriage?” Another lady sitting by the window suddenly spoke up, pointing outside.

The Doug residence faced the street, and, as the male homeowner preferred an unobstructed view, the front yard had no vegetation blocking the sightline. Hearing this, everyone looked and saw a small ebony carriage turning the corner and heading their way.

“It looks like it. I thought they wouldn’t come because of the rain,” said the lady who first noticed the carriage, her tone a mix of happiness and regret.

“They must have been caught in the rain halfway here,” Mrs. Doug whispered, instructing her maid to prepare a pot of hot pepper tea to prevent her friends from catching a cold on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, the maid came upstairs and quietly informed the mistress that Mr. and Mrs. Peter had brought an extra guest.

Mrs. Doug was surprised. “She didn’t say she would bring someone—”

The maid explained, “It was unexpected. Mrs. Dolly met that poor boy on Third Street, completely drenched and shivering… Mr. Peter rescued him into the carriage and brought him straight here.”

“If that’s the case, please ask the butler to prepare appropriate clothes for that poor soul and bring up some wine and toasted bread. They will need it,” Mrs. Doug said, then turned to look at her guests.

“I should go downstairs,” she declared.

The ladies quickly persuaded her to stay put—under normal circumstances, the hostess would indeed go downstairs to greet them, but since she was pregnant, it was best not to move around too much. Dolly was an old friend and wouldn’t mind such a small matter.

Moreover…

“Who knows if the stray dog they picked up might have fleas?” one lady said with a laugh, covering her mouth with her fan.

The remark was a bit harsh, but it sent the women into giggles.

However, when Mrs. Dolly came upstairs, everyone composed themselves, and even Mrs. Doug didn’t appear too curious.

Mrs. Dolly was a petite woman with a high-pitched voice, unaffected by the sudden change in weather, and hurried through the hallway into the room.

A boy with an exceptionally delicate appearance followed her, his golden hair still not fully dry, hanging around his cheeks. His large, round eyes were mistier than the rainy streets.

The room fell silent for a half second before suddenly becoming enthusiastic. The lady who had made the “flea” comment leaned forward eagerly, asking, “What happened?”

Mrs. Dolly couldn’t help but glance at Mrs. Doug with a slightly smug look. “This poor child was freezing and homeless. My goodness, what could I do? If I had left him there alone, my conscience wouldn’t allow it. Peter felt the same, so we brought him along.”

The boy seemed startled by the situation, and upon closer inspection, he was still shivering—he turned his pleading eyes towards the only man present.

Shivers spit all the tea he was sipping back into his cup.

Because this poor, chilled little “puppy” was none other than Yitzfa.

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Kinky Thoughts:

I kind of ship Shivers and Yitzfa…

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 70

The Duke was disinterested in everything, so when they left the second floor and entered the herbal trading area, he secretly sighed with relief.

This level had a certain technical barrier. Most were chefs from wealthy kitchens, along with apothecaries and mages—a group not only scarce in number but each more eccentric than the last. Everyone was somewhat wearing something to cover their faces, but all had an antisocial, silent, and gloomy temperament, meaning that despite wearing rabbit decorations, no one would approach them to strike up a conversation.

“I did quite well in herbology. While at school, I developed a very effective hair growth tonic, which made my first fortune,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mentioned.

He stocked up on some basic medicinal powders and some local raw materials here. While they looked ordinary separately, some non-magical materials could produce effects rivaling magic when mixed and processed by someone knowledgeable. This was why potion-making was one of the lowest barriers to entry in magical studies.

Watching him enthusiastically crouch down to pick through dried herbs, Dwight looked around impatiently and suddenly noticed something reflecting light in a pile of goods in front of an old man.

It was a stall selling animal materials, and the scruffy old man seemed utterly indifferent to his business. A worn-out cloth, indiscernible in color, was spread on the ground, haphazardly piled with broken bones, lizard tails, eyes from unknown animals, cockroach powder, and dried bats.

The Duke stepped closer—he saw it again. Something in that pile of dark, dried bats flickered, like the reflective eyes of an animal at night.

But undoubtedly, everything on this stall had long been dead.

Hasting, keeping an eye on the Duke’s actions, stepped forward to take a closer look too.

Although he couldn’t see anything special about these items, he still followed his master’s lead, shuffled through the small pile of dried bats, and then saw the Duke point at one particularly small dried bat.

Hasting: “……”

That meant he wanted to buy it.

No words could describe the turmoil in his heart at that moment, considering the proud Duke of Brandenburg was someone who could refuse to eat anything cooked by a chef he deemed unattractive.

Not to mention that the group of dried, shriveled animal bodies was unsightly, the stall’s scruffy owner, whose hair and beard were tangled together, was enough to make the well-acquainted Duke throw a significant fit.

Dwight saw Hasting not moving and nudged him on the arm to hurry him up.

Coming to his senses, Hasting spoke to the old man in the common tongue to ask for the price.

The stall owner, a drunk with a pungent smell of hangover, squinted through bleary eyes and couldn’t make out which item Hasting was pointing at. He simply took two copper coins and allowed him to take his pick.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had at some point come over and watched Hasting carefully wrap a dried bat in a handkerchief, somewhat surprised, but didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t until they left the building that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked the Duke if he planned to brew a potion—ordinary potions usually use processed powders or extracts, whereas magical potions might require whole dried animal carcasses.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dwight said. “I just thought there was something odd about it.”

Charlie pinched the rigid little claws of the dried bat, lifting it to inspect.

“I can’t see anything unusual,” he said.

Dwight hesitated for a moment.

At the herbal market, that dried bat indeed gave him a feeling akin to “being watched”, and it happened twice. He didn’t believe it was his imagination.

But now, closely examined under the sunlight, what the rabbit-headed shopkeeper held was indeed just a black, sun-dried dead bat.

“I can’t explain it,” the Duke said slowly. “Just now, I felt like it was watching me.”

Hasting exchanged a surprised look with Charlie.

“Then keep it,” Charlie decisively said. “Take it back and put it in water to test.”

Dwight glanced at him, somewhat surprised.

Originally, he thought Rabbit Head would use this opportunity to tease him about hallucinations or something.

Charlie fumbled in his shopping bag, trying to find waterproof parchment to wrap the dried bat for Hasting, but instead pulled out the two-colored flier they received upon entering. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “Ah!”

“We forgot the raffle,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, holding the flier carefully. “Remember that wooden archway? We bought stuff… Well, maybe we could win a small bottle of bedbug juice.”

The Duke warned him, “We’re not going back.”

They had already walked quite a distance from that building, and Dwight was unwilling to return just for bedbug juice, especially since it was now the hottest part of the day and even a mask was cooler than a cloak.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked and had to compromise.

Dwight still wasn’t done. “A bottle of bedbug juice isn’t worth making such a fuss over.”

“Speaking of gems, there really are such things here.” Charlie suddenly remembered. “The antique and jewelry market.”

“What good can there be in such a place?” the Duke continued his lecture. “Nothing but the inheritance of country widows or poorly made jewelry. Please restrain your provincial demeanor.”

“Yes, you must have seen many fine things,” Charlie drawled. “But it’s our first time here. Maybe there’s some exotic treasure you haven’t seen?”

“I’m here for the first time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t own things from here.” The three arrived where carriages were parked, and the coachman, who had been waiting under the shade, quickly came forward to take their things and stack them in the luggage rack at the back of the carriage.

“Shivers’ scabbard material comes from Doran, made from the skin of a deep-sea monster that stretches freely, reducing the volume of a long sword to a third when sheathed,” the Duke said as he removed his mask and boarded the carriage, his expression somewhat aggrieved.

“No wonder I’ve often wondered where he keeps his sword,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mused.

Pennigra had only a small territory that touched the sea and was located at the far western edge of the continent, indeed farther from Lemena than from Doran.

“There are also the purest crystal potion bottles from Gantia, which preserve the potion’s properties without degradation for thirty years,” the Duke said languidly. “The dragon leather boots I wore when we set off also came from Doran.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper finally looked at the Duke with slight surprise.

Indeed, dragon leather boots weren’t actually made from dragon skin—dragons had been missing from the continent for over two hundred years, and even if these enormous creatures hadn’t gone extinct, they wouldn’t be something humans could simply skin.

“Dragon skin” was a general term for the highest quality of tough leather, probably because the most ostentatious nobles would rather not refer to their boots and gloves as “Polymountain Ironscale Four-legged Snakeskin Gloves” or “Deep Sea Cyclops Sharkskin Boots’.

Whichever it was, any leather product that could be called dragon skin was inherently expensive. What surprised Charlie even more was that many of the Duke’s possessions indeed came from Doran.

He was certain that before their time in Maplewood, this lord had never set foot outside the continent of Pennigra.

Charlie turned to look at Hasting.

The knight, who was sitting with his arms crossed by the window, originally didn’t want to speak but couldn’t resist the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s unrelenting gaze and glanced at the Duke.

Dwight hummed softly.

“Brandenburg and White Bridge have a VIP agreement, and each year’s auction catalog is sent to Lemena in advance,” Hasting explained.

At the mention of “White Bridge”, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper paused.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it.” Dwight raised an eyebrow.

Charlie adjusted his top hat. “Of course, I know. It’s a notorious lawless zone in Doran, the biggest den of vice.”

White Bridge wasn’t a bridge but a city—or rather, it couldn’t truly be called a city. A more fitting description would be a lawless zone. In White Bridge, no royal or rule could be enforced, and no armed forces were allowed, no matter who they were. Legend had it that fifty years ago, due to the sale of an elven slave within its limits, the elf’s tribe’s army besieged the city, but the conflict was extinguished as silently as a candle dipped in water.

It hosted the largest opium dens and banks, but it was more famous for an auction said to sell anything.

Give a beggar enough wealth, and he could buy a kingdom from White Bridge, becoming a king.

The Duke’s peculiar items likely came from the White Bridge auction.

Due to the area’s uniqueness, White Bridge didn’t accept jurisdiction from any empire or power. The Wolf family, one of the Black Gold Families, rose to immense wealth through these auctions, wealthy enough to rival nations.

The profit-driven Wolves were infamous. There was nothing they couldn’t procure if the price was right. If there was one place in the world where one could trade, it would be at a Wolf auction.

White Bridge was a true city that never slept, with auctions big and small running year-round, but the truly influential Wolf auction happened only once a year, drawing many attendees. Only there could one’s wildest imaginations of treasures and monsters be fully indulged.

Dwight had thought that, given Charlie’s way of doing things, he would be eager about the White Bridge auction—he even prepared to reject his whimsical suggestions outright.

But the rabbit-headed shopkeeper merely nodded, not continuing the conversation on that topic.

Even Hasting was surprised by this.

Though they hadn’t been together long, Hasting knew that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper possessed many quirky gadgets, as demonstrated by his enthusiasm in the general goods market.

The Knight Commander had once told him that this mysterious Mr. Rabbit had “an endless array of bizarre ideas”.

For someone like that to show disinterest upon hearing about possibly the world’s largest auction was indeed abnormal.

Hasting, being straightforward, voiced his inner question directly.

Charlie looked at both Hasting and Dwight—they were both watching him.

“It’s not that I dislike auctions. I just don’t like the name Wolf,” he said honestly.

“Do you have a history with them?” the Duke immediately asked.

“Not exactly a history.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper shrugged nonchalantly. “Isn’t it natural for rabbits to dislike wolves?”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 69

“Did you foresee something like this happening, and that’s why you insisted on coming no matter what?” Dwight stood with his arms crossed. The road was still muddy from last night’s rain. Many people avoiding carriages squeezed onto the unpaved roadside, which greatly pressured the Duke, who wasn’t accustomed to crowds.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him to actually come here—though he knew Rabbit Head just wanted to use his carriage and knights. The other’s incessant chatter really made his head spin. The Duke felt immediate regret the second he agreed, but it was already too late.

“What do you mean?” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked with a politely inquiring expression.

The Duke stared at something in his hand.

It was a small, white half-face mask made of thin silver sheets. It wasn’t the finest craftsmanship and was unadorned with jewels, except for a red outline around the eyes.

“I just think its design is quite nice.” Charlie handed it to him. “The weather is really nice today. Wearing a cloak would be a waste. And look, everyone is wearing masks.”

In fact, that was an exaggeration. They were standing at the entrance of an outdoor market, which featured a carefully constructed large straw archway decorated with flowers and vegetables. There were already two or three small stalls on either side of the arch, selling things like masks, hoods, and bonnets—all themed around rabbits.

However, not many here wore such items. It was about half and half.

“An outstanding appearance is a gift from heaven, but given the circumstances, it’s best we keep a low profile. Look, I’ve even bought one for Hasting.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper then produced another item. It wasn’t a mask, but a hat decorated with two long ears.

Dwight glared at the hat for a while, then reached for the mask.

The crudely made mask was hard to accept, but the hat with ears was even more ridiculous.

Charlie wasn’t lying. Indeed, many people at the scene were wearing rabbit-related decorations, and a mask that obscured his face was actually quite suitable for him.

Although he felt it was foolish to wear such decorations outside of a costume ball, he didn’t want to relive the elf riots, which was one of the reasons he had been avoiding going out.

Seeing the Duke actually put on the mask, Hasting was internally thunderstruck. Although his face remained expressionless, his slightly reclining posture honestly reflected his resistance to the rabbit-eared hat.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, apparently oblivious to his deep resentment, cheerfully stuffed the hat at him. “There, that’s better—perfectly blending in.”

Although the weather was still quite cool, the frequent rains left the air feeling sticky and thick, making it uncomfortable to wear a hooded cloak due to poor ventilation.

Hasting had no need to conceal his face, and since even the Duke had accepted it… the young knight resignedly jammed the hat on his head without much fuss.

Of course, they didn’t plan to buy any farm tools or seeds. If there were rare elven crop seeds, it might be worth a look, but the market’s arch was like a ready-made menu, and the seeds sold inside were likely reflected in the “samples” on display above. Most people entering this arch were middle-aged or elderly farmers, a demographic not often seen wearing rabbit decorations.

The first market was a large open square that was already crowded with various stalls early before the sun was fully up. Stall owners had tried every trick to make their spots more visible. Some had bright cloth tents; others had makeshift scarecrows of shovels and pitchforks, creating a lively atmosphere from a distance.

The second market was located directly behind the square in a spacious, three-story stone building that looked like a small monastery or school.

The building’s entrance also featured a decorative arch made of wood, shaped like a square, with many genuinely pullable small drawers.

A flamboyantly dressed, attention-seeking individual stood under the arch, handing out flyers, his tone overly enthusiastic.

This market saw significantly more people wearing rabbit decorations. Even Charlie’s rabbit head became less conspicuous here, attracting at most a few extra glances from people curious about the craftsmanship of his headgear.

Charlie and Hasting each took a flier (the Duke didn’t even glance at the clown) and looked them over as they walked.

Dwight didn’t believe that such a folk market could have anything of value. He acknowledged that the size of the market was unusual, but not enough to pique his interest. However, the colors of the flier in Charlie’s hand did catch his attention.

It was a two-color flier, one side bright yellow and the other deep purple. In Pennigra, dyes were mostly made from minerals, and purple was rare.

Here, it was used to dye a handout flier, which could be considered a rare local product.

But as rare as it was, it wasn’t worth the Duke’s time to trade, so he only gave it a brief look before turning away.

The content of the flier, however, intrigued Charlie. The three-story building was naturally divided into sections: the first floor housed large, cumbersome equipment and miscellaneous items; the second floor featured handicrafts; and the third floor was the spice market.

The purple-dyed back of the flier also listed some promotions: shoppers could receive price tags from vendors, and based on these tags, they could exchange for gifts at the gate upon returning—the gifts were inside the wooden arch, with each small drawer containing something. The more you spent, the higher and more valuable the gift you could obtain.

The flier described some of the gifts in an exaggerated tone, such as a rare, deadly porcupine quill or powder made from a giant deep-sea pearl.

Many residents from nearby towns gathered on the first floor, which was frequented by people of all ages. Most sellers were carpenters, and many buyers were young couples planning to furnish their homes.

The three of them avoided this crowd and headed to the second floor, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s main destination.

Charlie thrived in such a bustling environment. If not for the Duke’s watchful eye, he could have disappeared within ten seconds. Dwight, having no shopping goals, had to quickly follow the enthusiastic Rabbit Head.

On the contrary, it was even harder for Hasting to follow the Duke. For some reason, after reaching this floor, more people noticed him. Just a dozen steps in, several girls and boys (?) deliberately brushed against him or threw flirtatious glances, and some even directly stopped him to say hello.

Hasting, annoyed, took advantage of the Knight Commander’s absence to abandon his usual decorum. He wore a stern expression and ignored everyone as he hurried to catch up with the Duke, whose back was all that remained in sight. At times like these, he greatly admired his captain, who alone managed to maintain composure and stay close to the Duke without fail.

When Charlie finally stopped to carefully examine a stall selling handmade harmonicas, Hasting breathed a sigh of relief—at the risk of losing them, he was just about to really lose sight of them.

The Duke, showing only his chin under the mask, was quite eye-catching, but his aura of unapproachability was so strong, and he never made eye contact with anyone, so he wasn’t bothered much.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper finished paying and looked back to see Hasting looking disheveled, which made him blink.

“What’s wrong?” He considerately stopped moving forward to give the young man a chance to catch his breath.

Once they stopped, things got even more troublesome. A bold brunette girl directly blocked their path, inviting Hasting to taste the jam she brought to trade today.

“No, thank you,” Hasting kept saying, trying to move past her towards the Duke, but then another girl approached.

Though smiling, the young knight was nearly at his breaking point—he would have preferred these to be enemies, as dealing with them would have been much less troublesome with a punch each!

“Alright, alright.” Having enjoyed the spectacle enough, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper gently pushed the shoulders of the two girls aside and swiftly took off the hat from Hasting’s head.

Strangely enough, this action was more effective than anything Hasting could have said. The girls stared at them for a while and then stormed off, huffing.

“What’s this about?” The Duke, who had been watching from a distance, finally spoke. If he hadn’t understood before, Charlie’s actions now would have made even a fool sense something was amiss.

Trying to suppress his laughter, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper straightened Hasting’s clothes and casually stuffed the hat into the cloak’s hood.

“I’m not quite sure myself.” Charlie feigned ignorance. “I just made an educated guess… Oh dear, don’t get agitated.”

Dwight placed his hand on his cane—a rare occurrence, but every time it indicated that the Duke was tempted to handle things personally.

“I’m as new here as you are and truly don’t understand the customs.” The rabbit-head shopkeeper, seeing Hasting’s distressed state, finally felt a bit guilty and raised his hands. “Both of you, do you know what ‘March Rabbit’ means?”

The Duke’s eyebrows furrowed under his mask, while the Brandenburg knight looked confused.

“March is the mating season for rabbits,” Charlie explained with a smile. “I only realized it after coming here. The reason this market is called the March Rabbit Market might not only be because it’s the first large-scale trade of the spring, but it might also imply a venue for young people to meet for romance.”

By the heavens, this time the shopkeeper was telling the truth.

When he bought these items at the entrance of the first market, his intention was indeed to hide the Duke’s face, and for Hasting, he simply thought the young man, always so stern, would look cute in the hat—after all, if the Duke wore one, this young knight would surely comply.

Only along the way did he vaguely realize that the rabbit decorations might have another meaning.

In fact, all three of them were observant of their surroundings, but while the Duke and Hasting watched for suspicious activities, Charlie’s observations were more touristic. Hence, he noticed that most wearing rabbit decorations were young men and women, with a few middle-aged people, which combined with the name ‘March Rabbit’, suggested that wearing decorations meant one was single and approachable.

He hadn’t anticipated that, unlike Shivers and Shiloh, who were like fish in water among women, Hasting would be so honest and helpless when surrounded by enthusiastic girls, prompting him to intervene.

As for why he and the Duke weren’t subjected to such awkward situations, it was purely because of the girls judging by appearances.

The rabbit-head shopkeeper, whose face was hardly visible and who had a combative demeanor, and the Duke, who covered half his face and ignored everyone, weren’t as appealing as the handsome Hasting.

Hasting, suffering undeserved misfortune, remained silent, thinking to himself that the Knight Commander was a lair. This rabbit-headed shopkeeper was definitely not a good man.

Although the goods on this floor were varied, truly exquisite items were rare, and magically effective items were even scarcer and very expensive, almost only serving as promotional displays, likely to remain unsold until the end of the gathering.

Based on his observations of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, Dwight expected him to hunt for quirky, peculiar, and surprising gadgets. However, after a complete round, the purchases he made weren’t special—just things like whistles and small spray bottles packed into a bag.

It was Hasting who found something worthwhile. He purchased finely ground toxic lizard bone powder and a small jar of unusually colored animal fat for weapon maintenance at a blacksmith’s stall.

Although it was unclear from which animal the fat was derived, everything at the modestly sized stall, such as pots and knives, was of good quality.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper initially wanted to buy some fat too but quickly realized that he no longer needed to maintain Columbus, so he refrained.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 68

Two plump gray sparrows landed on the balcony, huddled close together. Their mung bean-sized eyes were unblinkingly fixed on two tall men a few steps below.

One of them was a gray-haired man with hair so short that his scalp was almost visible, a dagger at his waist, and a face that children would steer clear of. A long scar stretched from his neck to his shoulder, hidden beneath the collar of his loose coat.

He had been standing here all morning. His tense features were only slightly relaxed during the brief conversations when his companion came to switch shifts—only slightly.

“Old Chuck has gone back.” His companion handed him a wooden flask about the size of a palm, filled with high-concentration fire ant liquor.

In fact, this liquor has nothing to do with ants. It was a high-concentration beer mixed with several kinds of mildly toxic animal bones. Each sip felt like a fire ant crawling from the mouth to the stomach, hence the name.

Locals weren’t used to this intensely stimulating liquor. Only those with numbed nerves like drunks and mercenaries like them from the north enjoy it—it quickly warmed the body and was very invigorating.

The gray-haired man had been on guard all night, and the early spring night was still very cold, making this drink just right for him.

He uncorked the flask and took a sip, feeling his somewhat stiff organs slowly awakening.

“He should have gone back already. That leg of his becomes useless in winter,” he said nonchalantly. “How old is he? Forty? Forty-five?”

In their line of work, physical fitness was fundamental. Once someone was injured beyond full recovery or got too old, they were no longer suitable to stay in the team.

“I don’t know. At least forty,” the relieving companion said. “Actually, he’s not old. It’s just that his leg isn’t good. If he was still here, he might have fallen behind during this journey.”

Their current employer, although generous, also emphasized discipline. The boss tested the waters twice; he wasn’t a naive sucker, so there wouldn’t be any special treatment for Old Chuck.

It just so happened that some of them were heading back north, and Old Chuck went along with them.

Having worked together for years, both felt somewhat melancholic about their companion’s retirement and unusually engaged in a longer chat—but they were cautious, never using the common language for private conversations, especially since it was still dark and there were few people around.

Gray-hair nodded. “Xina will be happy.”

His companion laughed. “Bullshit. Xina is going to shove him out the door with a shovel—what can he do when he gets back? Help Xina plant potatoes? Bol has grown up and can help Xina with the work. And how much can you earn from planting potatoes? It’s not even enough for him to drink well for a year here.”

“Then let him work for Xina, and Bol can come out and follow us,” Gray-hair said nonchalantly. “Bol is seventeen now, right?”

He himself had done just that—after his father died in battle, he filled the gap and never returned home.

There was a saying in their squad: either drink with joy or be carried home dead—Old Chuck retired without dying, but in the eyes of mercenaries, retiring due to injury or illness was as good as dead. Only those with families made such a choice.

Like Gray-hair, those who ventured out as young bachelors often ended up dead in battle or drunk.

But they were still young. It was too early to think about such things.

His companion scoffed. “Bol won’t do, Old Chuck has complained many times that his eldest son is too timid to see blood. But I did hear something funny last time.”

He leaned a bit closer to Gray-hair and lowered his voice. “Bol’s first love was a disaster because he fell in love with a Lioness.”

Gray-hair was slightly startled. “What about him?”

His companion shrugged. “That’s why I say he’s a stupid kid… They all have extreme tastes. They either like the strong or the very good-looking, and Bol is neither. No one even takes him seriously. I also heard there’s a new recruit coming out soon. Maybe Bol’s first love is one of them. That naive village boy shouldn’t be dreaming.”

Though theoretically they all belong to the Lion family, only the management cadres could bear the Lion’s name.

As famous as the fierce reputation of the Lion family’s mercenary group was their all-female leadership—unlike the matriarchal society structure of the lion prides on the savannah, the Lion family didn’t have a “male lion”. All rulers had been women, and thus, men comprised less than 10% of the middle and upper management.

In their north, girls entitled to bear the Lion’s name were cadet officers. Such people would never marry a simple potato farmer, and Lionesses weren’t the type to just lie in their dens and control remotely. They prefer to take action and patrol their territories.

This spring just coincided with a coming-of-age ceremony for the young Lions, where eligible and qualified young women from the family were set loose on the continent to hunt for power and mates.

The family provided little support during this stage, but once the trial was passed, one could secure a place in the family hierarchy—the current family head, Adeline, became a regiment commander immediately after her adulthood trial and took over the highest family authority ten years later, a record still unbroken.

“Is the boss going to ‘White Bridge’ also because of the new recruit?” Gray-hair couldn’t help but associate it with something the boss had mentioned.

“Probably not. That’s the territory of the Wolves. They wouldn’t place a new recruit’s trial there. Must be some other important matter.” His companion finished the last sip of fire ant liquor and handed the flask back to Gray-hair. “Probably some messy big event. They love doing that, but it’s none of our business—return the flask to Old D for me. He was reluctant to lend it to me…”

After drinking a small bottle of liquor, both men felt warmed up. Gray-hair moved his stiff body from the night watch, pinching the flask as he walked away.

Their current employer was quite wealthy and loved pomp, even arranging people to stand guard at the door of the house. Privately, they all found such behavior ridiculous. Did they think they were kings in a palace needing guards at the door!

But no matter what they thought internally, having taken the money, they had to do the job, and outwardly, no one showed much complaint. After all, they usually had to guard merchandise 24/7 when protecting caravans, so this was no different, just a bit boring.

Dwight didn’t care what his employees thought.

After dispatching the Knight Commander, he continued to keep a low profile, so much so that even the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a bit fed up.

“Even the shyest girls are willing to go out for picnics with friends. There’s really no need for you to be so modest,” Charlie said. “Is it because Shivers isn’t here that you feel insecure?”

The young Duke glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the newspaper.

This habit had continued, only now the duo buying his newspapers had changed from Columbus and Eugene to Shiloh and Eugene.

Shivers was his personal bodyguard, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do without Shivers. Besides, the Knight Commander had already made proper arrangements for a few Brandenburg knights, ensuring that the Duke was never left unprotected.

Like the young man now standing three steps behind the Duke on his left, saying nothing.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper found this quite interesting.

He had once thought that the Brandenburg Knights were selected for their looks, but after getting to know a few of them, he realized that although these young men indeed had handsome features, their distinct personalities were far more interesting than their appearances.

“Firstly, my sense of security doesn’t come from anyone but myself, and secondly, Hasting is as excellent as any other Brandenburg Knight, including Shivers.” Dwight slowly turned a page of the newspaper. “I don’t go out because there’s no need to burrow everywhere like a rabbit preparing escape routes.”

Having failed in his attempt to sow discord, Charlie simply sat down in front of the Duke, naturally pulling a newspaper from his hands. This action caused Hasting’s brow to twitch, but seeing that the Duke was indifferent, he remained silent.

Completely unaware that his single gesture had offended a Brandenburg Knight, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper continued to chatter as he read. “Come on, even vampires venture out at night. Since you entered this house, you haven’t stepped outside once. Don’t you feel suffocated? It’s lively near the capital here, going out for half a day won’t delay any news from Miss Priscilla… Hmm?”

He straightened up, quickly scanning a small section of the newspaper. “‘This year’s March Rabbit Market will commence on the third Friday. First market: Farm tools and seeds; Second market: Herbs and groceries; Third market: Grains and spices; Fourth market: Antiques and jewelry. Each market will have an inquiry and notary station… The third Friday—that’s tomorrow!'”

Dwight noticed his ears had comically perked up—clearly, this guy was genuinely interested in that rambunctious trade market.

Strictly speaking, he was interested in the herbs and groceries section, perhaps reluctantly including the antiques and jewelry.

He had long noticed that Rabbit Head had an unusual fervor and collecting hobby for all sorts of obscure items, not just for the rare magical items like the “Book of Seasons” he typically used, but for all sorts of oddities that seemed peculiar and useless to ordinary people.

Since leaving Pennigra, he had been compulsively buying things in every town they settled, even purchasing a hat in Hilly City that could temporarily change hair color (which the Duke thought was just a hat with an ugly wig attached)—then turned around and cried poor to him, adamantly refusing to spend on food, lodging, or anything else.

However, this proved that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper did indeed possess some good stuff, as evidenced by his many purchases without his luggage visibly increasing. Space magic for storage was extremely expensive, and ordinary nobility could rarely afford it.

“I’m not going,” Dwight said heartlessly. “If you want to go, go by yourself.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper blinked. “But I wanted to invite you to go together.”

He glanced sideways behind the Duke, and sure enough, the always expressionless young man’s brow twitched again.

Too funny.

“Have Eugene go.” The Duke was unimpressed. He turned another page of the newspaper, then irritably discovered he had finished reading everything. The only unread page being in Rabbit Head’s hands.

“Eugene took Shiloh shopping,” Charlie said. “Apparently, it’s a reward for learning swordsmanship… Shiloh dares not go out alone. Erica threatened to shave his head if he gets lost by himself again.”

“Then take two mercenaries.”

“Don’t you know what a free market means? Free—dom—. Those terrifying guys showing up would ruin a whole day’s business!”

“I’m not going anyway.” Dwight abruptly dropped the newspaper. “Hasting, have the kitchen prepare tea. I want to write another letter before my nap.”

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 67

The young Duke still sat upright, strictly adhering to the current time by wearing a morning robe, even though he had stayed inside the carriage with no intention of going out.

This was one of the garments temporarily purchased in Ropappas—a bright silver satin coat over a matching shirt-style pajama. It was the most exquisite fabric Shivers and his team could find locally, hastily tailored by an old seamstress for a fee, but the rabbit-head shopkeeper thought the color didn’t suit the Duke, who was pale from long periods without sunlight.

Dwight was still in his growth phase. His bones were growing rapidly recently, but his fat storage couldn’t keep up, so he kept getting taller but looked even thinner than when they first met in Maplewood. His long, untrimmed, light golden hair fell to his shoulders, making his face appear even more pallid against the morning robe.

If his father were still alive, he would certainly have someone give him a mirror and sternly remind him that a Dwight shouldn’t show such a bewildered expression in front of others, as it made him seem vulnerable.

But the former Duke Dwight was long gone.

The only one who might have taught him this, Priscilla, was in a critical condition.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper didn’t speak immediately but looked around instead. Although this carriage was hastily prepared, like the magic book, the necessary preparations weren’t lacking.

Just from a brief glance, he could confirm that at least two magical items in the carriage had the ability to shield sounds.

After the Duke spoke, he fell silent, appearing a bit like he was daydreaming—something the rabbit-headed shopkeeper understood.

The premature death of the former Duke forced him to take up the family reins at a time when his foundations weren’t stable, followed by Priscilla bravely accepting a proposal from a nobleman on another continent to prevent her marriage from being used as a tool to manipulate her brother, thus clearing the last obstacle for him to wield power over Brandenburg.

Having grown up with a scepter, the word “helpless” should be extremely foreign to him.

He instinctively knew he wasn’t allowed to show his vulnerability, so even the most trusted confidants weren’t permitted inside this carriage.

But perhaps it was his confusion that made him call Charlie over. Maybe the ballad about 22 Paulownia Street ultimately left an impression on the Duke.

Human behavioral patterns had never changed.

Once they realized they might truly be out of options, they turned to seeking another form of psychological comfort—even things they would scoff at when in full possession of their faculties.

This kind of Dwight felt somewhat unfamiliar and uncomfortable to Charlie, who, despite the oddity, seemed more accustomed to seeing him assertive and determined.

In fact, the Duke didn’t ask him anything more after saying, “I don’t know,” and then fell into silence.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sat expressionlessly across from the Duke, searching for the right words in his mind while inexplicably recalling the dream he just had.

That disturbing, heart-racing nightmare.

You’re a rabbit, Charlie.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper told himself this. With lions everywhere outside, how capable are you really? It’s extremely irrational and risky to stick your head out of the hole—

He thought this as he reached out his hand.

Dwight lowered his head to see him take his hand.

“It’s not as bad as all that.”

He heard the rabbit-headed shopkeeper say.

“Turn back the clock, to the Mokwen royal family—the King knew of the ‘Holy Grail’ at least before Tifa ascended the throne, when the former King Frederick was still alive. The old King was brave and good at warfare, not the type to seek illusory powers, but some people in their twilight years might crazily crave a return to their peak, though this remains unverified. With Frederick alive, that mage wouldn’t likely have bypassed the King to deal directly with Tifa, who was still one of the seven princes at that time. Therefore, it’s very likely that the secret of the Holy Grail was inherited by the surviving princes as part of the King’s legacy,” Charlie said, dipping his finger in some hot tea from a silver cup and drawing a decision tree on the wooden table.

“According to the Fox, Duke Baylor has an unusual obsession with art and isn’t keen on power struggles. Perhaps for this reason, Tifa excluded him early from the competitors and ‘generously’ granted him a title higher than that of Lestrop.”

“The room where the flying box is located, including the decorations and secret passages, couldn’t have been done in a day or two. Tifa must have been trying this for some time. But Queen Christine has never been pregnant, which might explain why, although they are both his children, the ‘Holy Grail’ and a royal heir mean different things to him. He’s the King, and his ideas to some extent also represent the Mokwen royal family’s views—his and Lestrop’s thoughts.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper drew an equal sign between the circles representing Tifa and Lestrop.

Dwight immediately understood his meaning.

Regardless of whether the entire Mokwen royal family was involved or prepared to join this mad plan, in their eyes, the instrumental value of the ‘Holy Grail’ outweighed its personal significance, and they likely didn’t acknowledge the child that might exist, born of their scheme, as their own progeny.

This was why Tifa used the flying box to deceive the girls of the flower garden.

Queen Christine was of noble birth, backed by another kingdom. If she were pregnant, the child would be a prince.

Not some key to wielding power.

If Lestrop’s thoughts were similar to Tifa’s, then even if he wanted to involve himself in this experiment, the subject wouldn’t be his own sister-in-law, the Duchess of Brandenburg.

The Duke pursed his lips.

He was beginning to regret—this emotion was equally foreign to him.

He regretted that his decision to come to the Doran continent was made too late.

Christine and Priscilla were different. Her motherland was right to the east of Mokwen, and the two countries were closely connected due to this marriage alliance, making it impossible for Tifa to easily harm her.

Wasting time on regret wasn’t the style of the Dwight family. Dwight stared at the half-dried water stain on the table for a while, then suddenly said, “The Thorn Estate.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper: “?”

“No matter whether what that doctor said is true, we have indeed seen the Lamp Bearers with our own eyes.” The Duke lifted his gaze. “‘They are ageless and immortal spirits, not to be commanded by outsiders.’ Such beings, even if it’s his own capital of Syriacochi, Tifa couldn’t hide them in the flying box to deceive the public. If the Lamp Bearers had appeared in the capital, even if the King ordered every citizen’s mouth sealed, it couldn’t be hidden from the Black Gold Families, which aren’t governed by any kingdom. But we haven’t heard any news of this sort, which means—”

Charlie’s brows twitched.

“This means that the progress at Thorn Manor is even more advanced than in the capital!”

Though distant, the Thorn Estate was located in the outskirts of Ropappas, far from the capital—but closer to the experimental origin, Mistress Daisy’s castle.

The power of an ordinary estate should never surpass the King’s. If Tifa was behind in progress compared to the Thorn Estate, it was very likely that another major noble stood behind this estate.

Dwight’s thoughts raced.

It didn’t take him long to determine that he needed a pair of eyes to scout the Thorn Estate, someone who could avoid direct conflict, sneak in quietly, and leave no trace behind—a top-class spy.

But his available resources were thin.

The Duke couldn’t help but think of Rabbit Head and Erica’s description of ‘Doctor Salman’. Regardless of whether he carried a curse or a blessing, that ability to transform into a bird was indeed very practical.

If there hadn’t been a direct confrontation, he would have done everything possible to recruit such a person to his side…

But that opportunity had now passed.

Erica was a trump card he didn’t want to expose too soon. The castle incident was an exception; he had already ordered that, aside from himself, Erica need not respond to anyone else’s call, to stay low and accumulate power.

Although several Brandenburg Knights were now in place, not all were suitable for such tasks.

For instance, Shiloh, too young and known for his strength, wasn’t skilled in stealth or ambush.

Eugene had good stealth capabilities, but his combat skills and experience were insufficient. There was no guarantee he could return unscathed if sent out alone. The other knights were strong in battle but lacking in other areas—the Duke counted his available men again, and only two were suitable for this mission.

Shivers and Rabbit Head.

Charlie’s slippery skills were unquestionable, and the Knight Commander was sharp enough, seeming upright most of the time, but if needed, he could perform as well as Eugene.

Shivers had been with him longer and was more obedient. His loyalty was beyond doubt. Keeping him close was the wisest choice.

But Dwight inexplicably remembered something—that night when the rabbit-headed shopkeeper handed him a bottle of invisibility potion, his fingertips were colder than the glass bottle.

“You don’t understand. They must not find me,” the other had said.

The Duke didn’t know why he recalled such an insignificant detail at this time.

It was gradually getting lighter outside, and both men in the carriage could feel the increased speed of travel.

Charlie inexplicably looked at Dwight, who had been staring unblinkingly at him since earlier in silence.

“Please call Shivers over,” the young Duke said tiredly. “This discussion ends here. I want to sleep.”

Just like that? Was this a roundabout way of telling him to leave? What about the Thorn Estate?

Halfway through the conversation, he wanted to sleep—what kind of spoiled behavior was this… Oh, he is the Duke, with a realm of subjects to indulge him.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper clicked his tongue inwardly, scrutinizing the other’s complexion. He did indeed look sleep-deprived now, but that initial rare vulnerability had vanished—the Duke of Brandenburg had miraculously reverted to that unapproachable, rigidly disagreeable person.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 66

“Keep quiet.” A small hand tightly covered his mouth, and from his angle, all he could see was the other’s slightly chubby round cheeks and long, curled eyelashes—those lashes were trembling slightly, betraying the owner’s hidden nervousness and fear.

He dared not speak, so he reached out too, covering the other’s eyes. Don’t look.

He thought to himself, If you can’t see, you won’t be afraid.

The two children huddled close together, breathing so softly that the silence around them almost amplified the pounding of their hearts.

Besides this, they also heard their usually very strict teacher speaking in an unusually humble tone, offering compliments, but most of the time, this was met with silence. Occasionally, a deep, slightly muffled voice would respond in a northern language that they had just started learning.

They needed to learn many languages, but the language they heard today was particularly important… Why was it important?

Ah, he remembered.

The child curled up in the cramped space and recalled the day they had first received the textbook for that language. Someone had warned them in a strange tone that they must master this language well.

Why?

His sibling lifted their face to ask.

Because they were so small, they both had to sit on cushions to reach the desk.

Because, that’s the language of lions.

That person had said softly. Lions are the fiercest, most brutal animals. They mercilessly tear apart all prey that appears before them, break necks, rip out hearts… Ah, don’t cry. I’m just joking.

But you really must study seriously, because in their eyes, anyone not of their kind is prey, without any exceptions.

The young him couldn’t remember the first word they learned in that class, but every word the teacher had said about the language was etched in his memory.

Why must they study seriously?

Because, you surely wouldn’t want to fail to recognize Death when it stands before you, right?

Thunk. Charlie’s head hit the wooden board, and he blinked open his eyes, somewhat unsure if he was still dreaming or not.

He was surrounded by stacks of crates and some bulging bags at his feet, likely containing some type of hard-skinned vegetable or fruit, judging by the protruding shapes.

He was sitting amid these objects, leaning against a crate about half his height, having dozed off. The jostling of the carriage had caused his head to slip backwards, bumping into the wall.

It was indeed a dream.

He straightened up and took a moment to inspect his limbs.

Still the lean and trim figure of an adult male without a trace of baby fat, completely incongruous with his dream self.

This carriage couldn’t compare to the standard Brandenburg carriages he had ridden in Lemena. Even the light two-person carriages of the Dwight household would be lined with the finest, softest leather, never jarring enough to cause a bump.

But when traveling, even a young Duke couldn’t be too picky. In order to leave Ropappas as quickly as possible, they had left the inn almost as soon as the guards’ knights reached the city outskirts. It was past seven in the evening by then. The sun had already set, and the knights with a small contingent of mercenaries turned around without a break, traveling through the night.

The shopkeeper, who positioned himself as a civilian member of the group, had no intention of marching with everyone and shamelessly squeezed into the luggage carriage to sleep.

Perhaps influenced by his last conversation with the Knight Commander before departure, he unusually dreamed about things long past, so distant he wasn’t sure whether they had really happened or were merely fictitious memories he conjured up.

But the part about the lion was probably true.

Charlie leaned against the carriage wall, nudging the window open slightly.

It was still dark outside, and there were points of light like giant fireflies—those were the wind lamps commonly used by travelers.

The roads on the outskirts of the city weren’t as smooth as in the city, lacking streetlights, so they weren’t moving very fast. The mercenaries with them were relaxed, unfazed by the prospect of staying up for a day or two as long as they had warming liquor.

Two men were close to Charlie’s carriage, occasionally speaking in low voices—in the common tongue of Doran.

The content was somewhat dull, discussing either the spoiled cured meat from last night or calculating how long it would take to reach their destination.

Charlie listened for a while, then closed the window again.

Their command of the common tongue was fluent, indicating they were likely mercenaries who lived in the area year-round.

Aside from Miss Priscilla, their true identities hadn’t been discovered by anyone yet, and they only needed to guard against ordinary bandits and robbers. By such safety standards, the mercenaries Erica hired were unlikely to be actual members of the Lion family.

If real Lions were involved, that would be a headache… No, Lions didn’t matter.

As long as it wasn’t a real Lioness in power appearing, there would be no real trouble.

Charlie adjusted his silk top hat.

As a rabbit-headed individual, everyone in Pennigra knew him for his long ears when they thought of 22 Paulownia Street.

But in Doran, it was the opposite. Aside from Elena, no one had really seen him like this, and Elena—

Charlie forced himself to stop the train of thought.

Because whenever he thought of Elena, he couldn’t help but think of Columbus.

Back in Maplewood, Columbus had a premonition about the end of his life. Even if Elena changed her temper and complied with Charlie to lift the curse successfully, Columbus’ life was already near its end.

This adventure back to Doran was less about lifting the little tin soldier’s curse and more about giving him and his family one last chance to reunite, and incidentally… if he could die as a human, that would be for the best.

Now that Columbus had left, he no longer had a reason to look for Elena.

With Elena’s pride as a witch, even if she continued to search for him, she wouldn’t do so overtly or involve others.

So, as long as he didn’t face Elena directly, his presence in Doran wouldn’t be compromised.

The shopkeeper subconsciously touched his chest.

Nobody knew how many tracking-disrupting gadgets were hidden under his meticulous outfit.

Just the anti-tracking pendants he designed himself numbered two. He also wore a brooch that could conceal magical powers, and the top hat that could confuse others’ perceptions was never far from his head.

Even if Elena appeared outside the carriage at that moment, unless she opened the door and they faced each other, she wouldn’t discover him…

Charlie, reassured, leaned back to take another nap when suddenly, the carriage stopped.

Charlie: ???

He opened his eyes, not hearing any noise outside, and was about to reach for the window when the carriage door suddenly burst open from the outside.

Charlie: ?!?!

The blonde Knight Commander, still in the posture of opening the door, looked puzzled at the shopkeeper, who had taken a defensive stance inside the carriage.

Shivers: “What are you doing?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper put down his hand, holding a very small palm crossbow.

“It’s okay.” Charlie cleared his throat and put away the crossbow.

Shivers glanced at his frizzed hair and considerately changed the topic. “Nice item.” But it’s too small, only good for shooting rabbits.

“Yes.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper genuinely accepted the compliment. Despite its small size, the palm crossbow was very powerful, capable of piercing an elephant’s skin, and he had coated the arrow with a paralyzing potion he formulated himself, which could instantly turn a person into an unfeeling stone.

“What happened?” He straightened his clothes before asking.

“His Grace would like you to come and have a look,” Shivers said tactfully.

Now that they were no longer surrounded solely by their own people, the Knight Commander prudently changed his address.

The rabbit-head shopkeeper adjusted his hat and followed him off the vehicle.

Dawn was just breaking, the air laden with the cold mist of morning—it was the coldest time.

Charlie’s leather boots hit the ground, the chill seeping through the soles to his feet.

Shivers, however, appeared as unfazed by the cold as the robust men beside him, making Charlie too embarrassed to shiver alone. He braced himself and walked the short distance before stepping up into the Duke’s carriage with a large stride.

Upon entering, he felt the warm air inside the carriage permeate every pore, so comforting that he wanted to get closer to the heat source—but that wasn’t possible.

The Duke of Brandenburg was half-sitting inside with his indispensable cane by his right hand, and a palm-sized sheepskin-covered notebook by his left. The notebook, open on his lap, continuously emitted heat.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper consciously sat down on another cushion, taking an extra glance at the notebook.

The notebook appeared thin—Charlie suspected it had only four pages, corresponding to the four seasons.

The page currently open was dazzling gold in color, devoid of any writing. Although it didn’t glow, the evident heat made it seem as though a small sun was placed inside the carriage.

What a luxurious magical item.

It was also a book. While that woman used hers to control the space and life within the castle, in the hands of the Duke, it was merely a thermostat. Judging by the Duke’s indifferent attitude, it probably wasn’t considered a precious item in Brandenburg.

Although covetous, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper restrained himself from paying too much attention to the rich man’s treasure, coughing lightly and maintaining a composed demeanor.

Dwight, as if just snapping out of a trance, gestured for Shivers to close the door after getting off, then, without speaking, pulled out a drawer from the partition, inside which was something familiar to Charlie.

The elf’s box, containing Priscilla’s rose.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper opened the box. The rose, already slowly withering, seemed to have rapidly lost life within just a few days, not only shedding several petals but also showing ominous brown edges on the remaining petals on the stem.

No wonder he was hurriedly called over.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper put the box back in the drawer and fell silent for a moment.

“Although I can offer advice and help, I’m not omnipotent,” he said softly. “What do you hope to gain from me this time?”

In fact, Dwight’s first request regarding the rose had already been fulfilled by him—meeting with the astrologer and revealing the omen behind it.

And this time?

At those words, Dwight glanced at him, his shallow, glass-like pupils reflecting the image of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

It was the first time Charlie saw an almost bewildered look on his face.

“I don’t know.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 65

“Even if Miss Priscilla is indeed pregnant, it doesn’t prove that she was involved in that experiment,” Charlie said, not having read the letter, but he could tell from the Duke’s expression that their unpleasant suspicion was likely confirmed.

The Knight Commander glanced at the rabbit-headed shopkeeper sitting in the chair, holding his doubts for the moment, and remained silent.

After reading the letter, Dwight habitually raised his hand to pass the paper to Shivers for destruction, which was the routine.

But midway, he seemed to think of something, his wrist turning abruptly to hand the letter to Charlie instead—as if he was making a special effort to hand it over personally. The Duke pursed his lips. It wasn’t intentional, but retracting his hand now would undoubtedly be even more improper.

Fortunately, during this time, the shopkeeper had developed a certain rapport with him and didn’t let the Duke’s hand hover in the air for too long, taking the letter and reading it quickly.

They had anticipated Priscilla’s part, but Dr. Salman’s experience was very informative.

Erica’s description in the letter was quite detailed, so Charlie could deduce a lot from it.

“The ‘Holy Grail’ project started ten years ago—or maybe even earlier. Mistress Daisy’s predecessor was very likely the initiator, or one of them.”

They believed the Holy Grail was to be birthed by a human female but didn’t know what specific conditions needed to be met; hence, they conducted many different experiments, all of which failed.

“Mistress Daisy never mentioned the presence of the Lamp Bearers, indicating that the experiments at that time weren’t as advanced as they are now at Thorn Manor,” Charlie handed the letter back to Shivers as he said thoughtfully.

“Blue blood. Is that unique to the ‘Holy Grail’?” The Duke’s fingers tapped unconsciously on the smooth wooden armrest. “I’ve never read in any texts about a creature with blue blood. Mermaids have pink blood, elves have green, angels have golden… even the abyssal creatures from centuries ago are described as ‘beings without blood and soul’.”

“The letter mentions that the newborn’s blood turned red within an hour,” Charlie reminded him. “Perhaps this suggests that the blue blood was abnormal.”

“So their experiment failed,” the Duke stated unequivocally. “But perhaps the blue blood is a condition to summon, no, to attract the Lamp Bearers. I don’t think the Lamp Bearers have self-awareness or souls. They are more likely entirely derivative beings of the Holy Grail, a tangible product of the mission like ‘seeking the Holy Grail’. Strictly speaking, they have no master… How could such beings respond to human summons?”

No, they have a master.

The shopkeeper didn’t voice this thought.

The situation had completely exceeded his expectations, and he harbored doubts about it.

He could foresee that if one day the Duke unearthed all the secrets, he would certainly be furious over his omissions… but on the positive side, the best outcome would merely be burying the secrets again for a few hundred more years, decaying completely underground.

But could he manage that?

Though he didn’t know where the woman in the castle’s study got her ideas, the seed of desire was undoubtedly sown, and her death couldn’t wither those sinister weeds. The many innocent women they had seen die after entering Doran were proof of this.

Farmers worrying about a half measure of wheat didn’t have the capacity to dream of ruling the world. Only those with some power or wealth could see through the vanity behind the Holy Grail. They might be enemies of each other, but their common goal was the same.

In the face of such a massive conglomerate of power, anyone was insignificant.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper suddenly felt an unprecedented exhaustion.

He took a deep breath, feeling like he didn’t even have the strength to maintain his composure anymore.

Dwight glanced at him.

Crossing continents without regard for himself and the witch’s disputes for the sake of the little tin soldier, no one would doubt the depth of their friendship.

But precisely because of the deep emotions, his calm demeanor so far worried everyone (especially Eugene and Shivers) all the more.

Even the little tin soldier was the same. Before this, they often had conversations like “if I get thrown into the witch’s furnace” or “Elena might make me into potion ingredients. I don’t like the smell of disintegration potions”. Most would take these as their heartless jokes. Only Dwight always felt slightly uncomfortable when he heard them—but couldn’t quite say why.

And the pampered Duke of Brandenburg wasn’t used to this kind of silently disturbing discomfort, so he would react even more harshly, making everyone uncomfortable.

Only after Columbus truly left did he vaguely understand why.

Perhaps… each time they discussed their own deaths, they weren’t joking.

They were seriously discussing, seriously preparing themselves mentally, seriously saying goodbye to each other.

And the Duke’s displeasure, perhaps, was because he recognized this every time.

“I have a question.” Charlie blinked. “Is one of the selection criteria for the Brandenburg Knight Order that they must be popular with women?”

His gaze fell on Shiloh in the courtyard below. The red-haired young man stood there, blankly holding a basket filled with stacks of bread slices, cookies, and jars of jam, while the girls around him kept stuffing more things into the basket.

Eugene was also there, similarly holding a large piece of smoked fish and wrapped farmhouse cheese.

Compared to Shiloh, he was much more uncomfortable, partly because he was unaccustomed to this rare scene of being surrounded by women, and partly because they had just finished sword practice, and he was sweaty.

Before, he wouldn’t have thought this was a problem—his personal record was going an entire winter without bathing, and the boys who huddled with him in the straw of the stables were the same, even picking lice off each other.

But since being brought into the Duke’s system, any slight hygiene issue was magnified countless times in the boss’ eyes. If he dared appear in his current sweaty state, the Duke wouldn’t even need to speak. Just his look would make him feel like a walking stinking fish.

Used to strict requirements, Eugene had already developed an awareness that his body odor might offend the refined ladies (and gentlemen), feeling somewhat uneasy about wanting to distance himself from the crowd, and this subtle reaction instead earned him more smoked sausages.

Overall, though, Shiloh was more popular. A significant portion of the inn’s female staff were married women, and in their eyes, there was nothing cuter than a red-haired, round-faced, and polite young man.

Knowing that these generous guests were planning to leave, a few bold women took the initiative to send them some gifts, not as fine as the perfume and white bread prepared by the inn, but Shilo never refused food.

The Knight Commander also watched the scene. “That’s not it. Shiloh is still a child. I’ve forbidden him from dating until he’s an adult.”

The shopkeeper unexpectedly turned to look at him.

Shivers, seemingly aware of the other’s confusion, explained, “Normally, the Brandenburg Knight Order doesn’t admit minors, but Shiloh is an exception. His talent is exceptional, the likes of which haven’t been seen in the reserves in over twenty years. The unstoppable force of a heavy swordsman on the battlefield is earned through innate talent and rigorous practice. For him, enhancing his skills during his prime is the right thing to do, and even if I hadn’t imposed a ban, he would understand this himself.”

Charlie nodded.

On any continent, population was the basic unit, and even the most inept rulers wouldn’t place many restrictions on this.

Therefore, except in some countries or cities with strong religious influences, most young people had a rather liberal understanding of love. Of course, there was nothing wrong with this, but if one wished to achieve something in a professional field during the most hormonally active age, external constraints and self-discipline were essential.

“So that’s it. Seeing you and Shiloh, I thought maybe having a good-looking face was a necessary condition to join the Brandenburg Knight Order,” the shopkeeper joked.

Shivers: “……”

Selection for knights indeed prioritizes skill, but the Brandenburg Knight Order was a general term, divided into the Duke’s personal guard and the castle troops. As the name implied, the personal guards were Dwight’s bodyguards, and aside from people like Shivers who have been groomed from a young age, members of the personal guard indeed had certain aesthetic requirements because they were closer to the Duke.

However, this rule wasn’t established by Dwight himself, but was a tradition of Brandenburg.

According to a previous Duke, this had nothing to do with personal preferences but was purely for the honor and dignity of the Dwight family—just as a King’s carriage must be drawn by four pure white horses. If one couldn’t even muster a guard of handsome knights, who would believe in the family’s heritage and taste?

So, the preference for good looks at Brandenburg was ancestral.

Seeing the Knight Commander’s expression, Charlie kept this thought to himself.

“It seems I can look forward to meeting the knights who come to greet the Duke,” he said with a laugh.

This was an arrangement made by Dwight himself.

The King of Mokwen’s ambitions regarding the Holy Grail and the confirmation of Priscilla’s pregnancy required more information for further action; thus, staying hidden in Ropappas was no longer a good option—Mistress Daisy’s castle was destroyed, and with Dr. Salman, who had been privy to the secrets of Thorn Manor, having fled, anyone controlling these events wouldn’t ignore them.

Brandenburg had no intention of getting involved in matters related to the Holy Grail, but Priscilla’s connection to the kingdom of Mokwen couldn’t be ignored. Once the Dwight family’s activities in Doran were discovered, things could become significantly more complicated.

Therefore, whether to reconnect with Priscilla or to shift their base, leaving was necessary.

Initially, the old steward consented to the Duke and the Knight Commander entering Doran alone not only because they planned to recruit Eugene and Charlie, but more importantly, the steward had his daughter lead members of the personal guard into Doran in secret to protect the Dwight family head at any time.

Because of the need for discretion, Erica only brought a few knights, but political chaos had its advantages—money could buy private armed forces.

Upon entering Doran, her first action was to consolidate armed forces. After this period of integration, except for two knights needed to maintain order, the rest, like Shiloh, would gather around the Duke and lead a small group of hired mercenaries with knights as the core.

With proper deployment, their combat power would be sufficient to handle a private lord’s castle defense—this was enough, as they didn’t intend to step into the battlefield of power struggles in Doran.

By that time, their numbers would significantly increase, and the current small travel group setup would no longer be suitable.

“Erica has arranged for housing—not in Syriacochi. Currently, Mokwen’s capital is still under semi-martial law, and a large group cannot enter. In the nearest city to Syriacochi, a fast horse can get there in half a day, and another part of the mercenary troop will be on standby there.”

Mercenaries… The rabbit-headed shopkeeper reached for his pipe but didn’t take it out.

“Eugene probably won’t be happy,” Shivers said calmly, seemingly oblivious to Charlie’s silence. “The last encounter in the alley left him quite shaken. But Erica always seeks to maximize effectiveness, and the Lion family is the best choice.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 64

The two girls specifically tasked with washing bed linens and tablecloths had already made several trips back and forth from the yard, each time sneaking a peek at the men in the hallway.

In Mokwen, a country that prided itself on martial prowess, the mainstream aesthetic for men had always been strong muscles, thick beards, and the scent of tobacco. The poets, merchant caravans, or military groups that passed through were usually either weary from travel or mysteriously elusive, partially concealed. The occasional appearance of a few handsome, clean men stood out starkly, like snowflakes in a coal heap.

A few local male servants, although they acknowledged that the wealthy gentlemen who had booked the inn indeed had a remarkable presence, equally couldn’t understand why the women were so frenzied. They made countless excuses to pass by the spacious hallway, which was off-limits to anyone unpermitted, sneaking peeks inside—simply because several gentlemen practiced swordsmanship there every morning.

Clang.

The blunt sword in Eugene’s hand was knocked out again, flying several meters away—this was already the fourth time this morning.

On this cool early spring morning, he was overheated. His face was flushed as if every pore was exuding steam.

“Wait!” He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to alleviate some of the stomach pain caused by too much exertion.

Initially, he had some complaints about the Knight Commander’s insistence on him shaving his beard and cutting his hair short, believing that most of his masculine charm came from his stubble. However, after several days of rigorous training, he began to think it was a wise decision: intense physical activity always led to profuse sweating, and his hair and beard would become a mess. If he dared to appear before the Duke in such a state, the Duke’s glance would make Eugene feel like an indelible stain on a kitchen fireplace.

Shiloh crouched lightly on a hardback chair, complaining, “Your shoulders are as stiff as a rock! That’s why you keep getting disarmed—”

He maintained a half-crouched stance, pivoting forty-five degrees on his left foot for balance, and made a thrusting motion with one hand.

“I must have said it a hundred times, relax your shoulders, relax your shoulders, relax your shoulders,” Shiloh said seriously. “Your physical fitness is also poor. You’re panting like this just from light sword practice. If you wore knight’s armor, you wouldn’t even be able to lift a wooden sword.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Eugene gasped as he went to pick up his sword.

“Shiloh is right,” Shivers, who was passing by after breakfast, chimed in. “Shiloh is a heavy swordsman. With just a weapon and a horse, he can pierce through a formation of up to thirty infantrymen on his own.”

Eugene turned incredulously to look at Shiloh, who was still perched on the chair.

Shiloh grinned at him.

“Is that why you’re always hungry?” Eugene incredulously sized up Shiloh’s still-growing frame.

Shiloh was quite tall, but with a round face and round eyes, he was neither fat nor particularly muscular. Eugene could hardly even imagine him fully armored—it just didn’t fit.

“I’m still growing.” Shiloh jumped off the chair. “I should be able to wield a sword with one hand once I’m fully grown. Alright, alright, lift your lazy arms. Let’s go again!”

Eugene numbly gave up on thinking.

As a pure-blooded low-born thug, Eugene’s understanding of fighting had always been simple: the bigger and more muscular, the stronger.

However, after being recruited by the Duke, he found that although he might be the heaviest among the group, his combat ability was (sadly) the weakest. In group fights, he was just blunt and clumsy, and even the seemingly fragile and slender rabbit-headed shopkeeper could knock him down.

A disgruntled Eugene, whenever he had a chance, pestered the Knight Commander to teach him swordsmanship. Shivers, maintaining his usual grace, was willing to teach him, but Eugene soon learned that just the stance for swordsmanship frustratingly had over a dozen variations!

He thought Shivers was pulling his leg until the rabbit-headed shopkeeper and the Duke both treated it as common knowledge. Therefore, just the stance for holding the sword took him a long time to learn, and the Knight Commander still thought his posture was “not correct or graceful enough”.

When Shiloh saw Eugene letting Shivers teach him swordsmanship, he bristled: Shivers was their Knight Commander, and even proper members of the Brandenburg Knight Order would feel embarrassed to pester him about teaching such basic skills. Shiloh immediately offered to take over the task from Shivers.

Initially, Eugene thought Shiloh was just a kid who probably got his knighthood through his background, and he grumbled, hoping Shivers would continue to teach him. But perhaps Shiloh was taking this opportunity for revenge, scrutinizing his posture while also stepping up the sparring practice, making Eugene howl in pain every morning.

Today, learning that Shiloh was a heavy swordsman, someone who could wield such a cumbersome weapon in full armor (knight armor was as heavy as a joke), surprised him…

They shouldn’t call it the Brandenburg Knight Order, but the Brandenburg Monster Order.

Eugene thought resentfully as he was once again flipped onto the ground by Shiloh.

Shiloh’s timely assistance was perfect, as his master had been somewhat anxious these past few days, which worried Shivers.

Like Erica, he didn’t quite understand why the Duke suddenly cared whether his sister was pregnant, but as the Knight Commander of the Duke’s personal guard, he, like Erica, possessed an extraordinary intuition.

This trait was most pronounced in Duke Dwight, to the point where even the rabbit-headed shopkeeper privately thought his acuity was almost elven.

Whether it was because he himself possessed this special ability and subconsciously gathered like-minded individuals or because they had been gradually trained as part of Dwight’s family reserve forces since childhood, even Shiloh showed similar characteristics, although his thought process was more akin to an animal’s instinctual nature.

The change in the Duke’s attitude was clearly after the private conversation with Charlie, but afterwards, both of them avoided discussing the content of their conversation.

Of course, Shivers couldn’t ask Dwight directly, but even the usually amiable rabbit-headed shopkeeper adopted an evasive stance when Shivers inquired diplomatically. This seemed like a signal, and the frequency of their private discussions increased, giving Shivers a subtle feeling.

He could somewhat understand that sharing various experiences, especially adventures, indeed acted as a catalyst for a sense of camaraderie between people. Not only was this true for the Duke and the shopkeeper, but it was the same for him with Eugene and Columbus, which was why the departure of the little tin soldier made everyone feel very sad.

But on top of that, having secrets in common also brought them closer to each other than to others.

It wasn’t that Shivers had any complaints about Charlie. Although the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was a mystery in many ways, his actions and speech were forthright, and intuition told him that Charlie wasn’t a person with ill intentions.

It was just that he and the Duke had been together almost since they were old enough to write, more like brothers than master and servant.

As the Duke’s first confidant, he had always felt that he was the most trusted by the Duke—indeed, this was also the tradition at Brandenburg. No matter how many marriages and loves a Duke went through, no matter how many children and vassals he had, the head of the Brandenburg Knight Order was always the sword in the Duke’s hand, the person closest to his power and secrets.

Shivers could feel that the Duke was curious about and sought to explore more about this mysterious shopkeeper, and interest often served as the gateway to investment.

The Duke’s unusual interest and trust in Charlie were unsettling for Shivers.

This unease wasn’t about fearing the loss of the Duke’s favor, as his loyalty to the Duke was always one-sided, requiring no feedback or reciprocation from the Duke.

His uncertainty was more about Charlie.

Perhaps Charlie wasn’t a bad person, but that didn’t mean he could necessarily be a good object for the Duke’s emotional investment.

The allure caused by a man’s mystery wasn’t only effective on women.

But behind the secrecy, what kind of person was the shopkeeper, really?

Could he offer the Duke an equal emotional return?

Such a man seemed too much of a wanderer. Aside from Columbus causing him a brief moment of instability, Shivers had never seen him truly reveal his emotions.

Charlie was like a wandering merchant, his baggage filled with countless curiosities that tempted one to explore.

As friends met by chance, his secrets and stories were easily refreshing, intriguing one to draw closer, but at the end of everything, would the Duke, Shivers, Eugene, and Shiloh just be one of the many stories he collected on his journey?

Could the Duke, accustomed to being adored by everyone, foresee or accept such an emotional discrepancy?

But no matter what, this wasn’t something he could meddle in…

The Knight Commander pushed open the door of the study, and his heart tangled even more at the sight of the rabbit-headed shopkeeper also inside, sitting across from the Duke.

Dwight looked up at Shivers, and his brow furrowed at the sight of what he held in his hand.

It was a letter from Erica.

Brandenburg didn’t have a dedicated mage, but they had a rich supply of magical items stored as backup—among them a magic stone used for urgent message delivery.

This magical item called a “Compass” could only be crafted by high-level mages. It involved engraving teleportation magic circles on two gems of the exact same purity. When used, the two gems could create a brief symbiotic space, allowing the magic circles to share information instantly when activated.

The principle was simple, akin to physically splitting a single altar into two linked halves, where the point of sacrifice became the endpoint.

This was a basic magical theory but was classified under advanced magic due to its operational difficulty.

The requirement of identical purity gems alone eliminated many mages with insufficient resources, not to mention the risk of damaging the gems during the intricate process of engraving the magic circles. More crucially, this magic was one-time use. The gems were destroyed after use, and there were limits on the volume and weight of the transported items, typically only allowing the exchange of documents up to five pages—making the investment-to-output ratio terrifyingly low.

Therefore, even though most mages could recite this teleportation circle from memory, this communication method remained affordable only to a small portion of the nobility.

Because Shivers and the Duke were inseparable, the arrangement of the magic stones when they left Lemena was that Erica and Shivers each held a part, to be used for covert communication.

Given Erica’s style of doing things, she should have sent a reply within two days of receiving a letter from Shivers, but this time it was delayed by nearly two days, allowing Dwight to guess the contents of Erica’s letter without even opening the envelope.

As the Duke had expected, Erica’s unusually cautious attitude led her to double-check the information reported back by her own spies with a third party—either local informants or the all-knowing Fox family—for further confirmation.

But for some reason, Erica intuitively felt that this matter should not be investigated too openly. It was better to keep it discreet so as not to let anyone notice that someone was interested in the Countess’ condition.

Thus, she took extra time after arriving in Syriacochi to confirm the facts before writing back to Shivers immediately.

Erica’s prudence was advantageous here—without knowing that Dwight and others had passed through Thorn Manor, Dr. Salman’s experiences there were also included in the letter as part of the information.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 63

Erica stood on the porch, watching two servants load tobacco leaves, candies, and a local specialty called “white cakes” onto the lead caravan.

White cakes, made with a lot of sugar, apples, and flour, were both sweet and hard but luxurious in ingredients and durable for storage. Many travelers liked to pack some in their luggage, both to stave off hunger and to show off.

Erica, of course, had no intention of showing off, but as part of a formally documented trade caravan, it was routine to purchase local goods at each stop and resell some of their stock.

Although all this was meant to divert attention, the caravan named Fuji managed to make quite a profit from selling local specialties.

But beyond the trade of goods, the caravan named Fuji had a more critical role.

Since entering the continent of Doran, Erica had consciously left contact points in every town they had stayed, which, like threads of a spider’s web, connected inconspicuously across this vast territory, with the web’s center pinned in Syriacochi—this was decided by the old steward, Erica’s father, before the Duke set out.

Lemena had no intention of getting involved in the turbulent affairs of Doran. Their primary task was to ensure the Duke received the maximum support abroad, and his visit focused undeniably on the kingdom of Mokwen.

Lestrop’s domain was some distance from the capital, Syriacochi, and to avoid suspicion, the old steward ultimately decided to place their informants in the capital, a decision that proved very wise.

“You’re well-prepared,” a voice said from behind her. Erica turned to see Dr. Salman wearing a travel-friendly, rolled-up robe and thick boots. His medium-length hair was tied at the nape.

Erica nodded. “It’s always a bit chaotic at the start, but you get used to it after a while.”

A laborer tried to take the carrying case from Salman’s hands to put it on the cart, but he gently declined.

Seeing Erica’s gaze, he smiled a bit sheepishly.

“It’s full of glass vials,” he explained. “Most of the stuff has been sold off. Some leftovers aren’t easy to sell and can be unsafe if used carelessly. I’ve decided to carry them with me, though I’m not sure if I’ll go back to my old job once we get to the next place.”

Erica didn’t smile.

She was almost as tall as Dr. Salman, and the two of them standing side by side on the porch often drew the attention of the passing helpers, particularly the women. In fact, Erica received even more attention, especially when she looked serious, which was more charming. Shiloh’s first love was ruthlessly crushed by her.

Shiloh was sent back to the Duke’s side as a contact after the castle incident, and it was Dr. Salman who stayed to help her with the aftermath. Thus, Erica was well aware that the man before her had talents and capabilities far exceeding what he showed, though whether the experience and capabilities gained through endless loneliness were worth it was debatable.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Erica asked.

Salman looked back at her gently. “My intuition never fails me. As long as I follow the path I want to take, I will always meet my loved one. Thank you for agreeing to give me a lift for part of the way. It greatly shortened the time for my plans.”

Erica nodded and said no more.

Dr. Salman had already been planning to leave Ropappas. The accidental involvement in the castle incident just extended his stay a few days. He seemed to have stirred up a little trouble locally and was now conveniently using the caravan’s cover to leave.

She had originally planned to stay a few more days to completely eliminate the lingering effects of several tycoons and a Baron’s sudden disappearance in the city, but since her efforts were initially focused on finding and compensating the girls’ families, she was stretched too thin. Thus, the city was rife with rumors and discussions.

Just then, an urgent letter from the Duke arrived, and Erica could only dispatch more people to stay in Ropappas while she herself set off immediately for Syriacochi to prepare in advance, hence the small journey she shared with Dr. Salman.

Perhaps it was the shared experience of rescuing Alice and others that quickly closed the distance between Erica and Salman.

Although Salman appeared young, he had already traveled across much of Doran, experiencing countless dangers and stories, which young Erica loved to hear, often inviting him for a drink during caravan breaks.

“I lived in Ropappas for ten years,” Dr. Salman said, leaning back against the cushioned back of the carriage in a relaxed posture. “I usually don’t stay in one place too long—ten or maybe fifteen years is the limit. Because my appearance doesn’t age with time, staying longer than that makes it easy for people to notice something unusual about me, and they might misunderstand me as a vampire or a black mage… Although I’m not, sometimes it’s really hard to explain.”

Erica nodded. “I understand. You could have stayed longer. What made you leave so cautiously? Although my power is limited, please don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it.”

Salman shook his head. Perhaps because the caravan had already left Ropappas, his demeanor had become much more relaxed.

“If a person lives too long, they inevitably accumulate many secrets,” he said softly. “But I know that you and Mr. Charlie come from another continent, and Doran may be more dangerous than you anticipated. If you continue to stay in Mokwen, I think it’s better for you to know about this.”

“I was an apprentice apothecarist in Arato for three years. The old apothecarist treated me like his child and recommended that I learn from a friend of his, an experienced old doctor. Surgeons can easily earn generous compensation and treatment, but I didn’t want to attract the attention of the powerful and thus lose my freedom, so I chose to settle in the marginal city of Ropappas ten years ago. Over the years, I’ve accumulated quite a network and reputation, often receiving invitations from the wealthy and nobility to treat illnesses in their estates or castles.”

As a surgeon, emergency calls were inevitable.

For this, Salman was fully prepared. He had shift porters, a long-term partnership with a carriage (although wealthy people usually took care of transportation), and a medical bag prepared for various situations, even training an apprentice who could handle basic cleaning, bandaging, stitching, and dispensing.

When the door was knocked on that night, he thought it was just another routine call.

Although it was already dark and required leaving the city, because it was the estate of a prestigious gentleman who promised a substantial fee, he didn’t think much of it and followed.

The patient was a young woman, eight months pregnant, with a prominently swollen belly. She was pale faced, having fainted several times, yet continuously being awakened.

Salman immediately knew she must have encountered an accident that endangered the child. Although she was far along, the delay was too long, and the child had a high chance of not surviving.

When he expressed to the master that he could only do his best to save the lady’s life, he unexpectedly encountered vehement opposition. They had actually invited him to induce labor and deliver the child before the mother’s death, no matter what.

This request was very unusual, at least in the kingdom of Mokwen.

Even a farmer in a barn wouldn’t choose the child under such circumstances. Salman was very surprised but wisely didn’t voice any objections—given the patient couldn’t afford delay, and leveraging the fact that he was the only doctor in the room, he still tried his best to save the lady.

But it was like a miracle—the baby that was born didn’t die immediately. The apprentice was forbidden from entering the room, and Salman could only try to save the mother while also looking after the infant. However, he soon discovered many unusual things about the newborn.

“He didn’t cry,” Salman said softly. “It’s common for newborns not to cry right away. We usually stimulate them a bit. I pricked the child’s fingertip with a fine needle, and he cried, but… I noticed his blood was blue.”

He had never seen human blood of that color before.

Salman was very surprised but didn’t show it. Instead, he discreetly cleaned the blood off the needle, and it was fortunate he did so—upon hearing the child’s cry, several people burst into the bedroom, ignoring all obstacles, and took the child away.

Their urgency was unusual. Even before they had fully left the bedroom, Salman heard someone whispering in a hushed voice, “…check the color… It’s here.”

Ten minutes after they left, the room, which had been slightly stuffy due to the burning fireplace, suddenly dropped in temperature strangely. A weird, suffocating atmosphere enveloped the room, and the woman, who was already stabilized, began to shiver uncontrollably. By then, no one was left in the room except for Salman.

The pale-faced young woman, half-conscious and half-delirious, clutched his hand tightly, repeating over and over, “Kill him… Kill him… He must be killed…”

Salman thought she was having a hysterical fit and tried to give her a sedative, but she reacted violently to the medication. As soon as she saw the medicine bottle, she struggled wildly, screaming that she didn’t want it, that it would give birth to a monster.

If at this point Salman didn’t realize he was involved in something serious, then he would have considered all his years of experience wasted.

He calmly sedated her, sparing no expense with valuable medicines to preserve her life—unexpectedly, an hour later, the child was brought back.

But this time, the child wasn’t breathing.

They said the child had died prematurely and asked Salman to give him one last bath before hastily burying him in the garden of the house.

“While washing, I meddled a bit and pricked the child’s fingertip again. His blood had not yet clotted, but this time the blood from the fingertip was red.”

If not for the woman’s delirious ravings while semi-conscious, he might have truly believed his first observation of blue blood was a hallucination.

“I did my best to preserve her life, which was the right decision, and I guess that’s why I managed to save both my apprentice’s life and my own.” Dr. Salman looked down at his wine glass, his voice very low. “I don’t know what she had been through, but the child’s birth must have involved some unnatural intervention, an act considered extremely evil in any doctrine. They wouldn’t want their secret exposed. But I managed to save her life… With the child already deceased, having the mother still alive allowed them to analyze and review the failure. If her condition worsened, they might still need me… I managed to escape smoothly by using the Baron as an excuse.”

They all knew what happened next.

Dr. Salman dismissed everyone associated with him, canceled his house lease, sold his furniture, and if Erica and Charlie had arrived just two hours later, he would have already left the city.

“I myself am hardly a normal human anymore, so I’m quite sensitive to magic and curses. I’m certain that the sudden drop in temperature in the room after the child was taken was due to something peculiar happening. That’s why, when I heard about the many young women confined in the castle, I became alert and asked to join you… Since ancient times, life magic has been taboo. If you encounter traces of such events on your journey, please don’t investigate or touch them, and leave as soon as possible.” Salman looked at the serious-faced Erica and spoke earnestly.

The early spring fields were turning green, making the roads much more passable than in the cold winter. The caravan didn’t need to seek shelter from snow or wind, and their progress was swift.

Erica sat in her carriage, holding a glass pen, lost in thought.

As she had traveled, the bird communication network typically used by Brandenburg was beginning to take shape in Doran, though it still lacked a bit of responsiveness.

Fortunately, intricately designed magical items could compensate for this deficiency, though costly and limited in use, typically reserved for emergencies. But now…

Erica dipped her pen in ink and began to write the first word on the letter.

Dear Green, 

I’m writing this response to you from the carriage on my way to Syriacochi.

The personnel stationed in the capital are reliable. They reported back to me immediately.

While this matter requires further verification by me, I think it necessary to discuss the clues we have so far, so you can make a preliminary judgment.

The cook at the Earl’s residence buys food every two days. She often talks to the apothecarist’s wife due to her back pain. On February 12^th, she complained about having to discard a large amount of fresh celery because it nauseated the Lady of the House, even though preparing celery along with chrysanthemums and oats was usual. The change in her Mistress’ taste caught her off guard.

The Earl’s physician completed a prescription at Akarla Apothecary: oatmeal, distilled water, rose petals, and a mixture of three types of animal bones, a formula typically used in eastern Doran to treat headaches in pregnant women.

…

As the carriage rolled over a sharp little stone buried in the dirt, it jolted the compartment. The tip of Erica’s pen trembled, causing a drop of ink to fall onto the letterhead, leaving a rust-colored ink stain.

Erica set down her pen, staring off into space for a while, then crumpled the letter into a tight ball in her hand.

Seconds later, the crumpled paper ball burst into a small flame from within and quietly burned out.

Apart from a past relationship with the Queen that had become taboo, Count Lestrop’s personal life and that of his brother had little in common, aside from one or two socialites rumored to have liaisons across the country. In fact, there was little to dig into about his romantic escapades. His focus seemed more on border conflicts and several disputed mineral veins, more similar in character to the old King in this respect.

For this reason, it was unlikely that another woman in the Earl’s estate, experiencing a significant change in taste and pregnancy headaches at this time, existed.

Erica didn’t know why the Duke was suddenly concerned about this—logically, it would be good news for both Miss Priscilla and her husband if they had a child after several years of marriage.

But perhaps Dr. Salman’s recounted experiences had made her overly nervous. She revised the letter several times and had yet to finish it.

Her intuition told her something wasn’t quite right.

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