Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 42

Mrs. Milou always got up early. As a diligent housewife, she had too much to do—light the fire, sweep the floor, feed the chickens, wake up the entire family, cook a big pot of steaming oatmeal, and after breakfast, send her husband and children to work in the fields. Then she would head to the well to draw water and bring it back home—only then would her day truly begin.

But today, her routine faced a minor disruption.

“Sir, I’m not sure…” she said nervously. She glanced at the fuzzy rabbit head of the other and quickly lowered her gaze.

Good heavens, how could a rabbit’s head be on a human body? Could this be the demons the priest spoke of? But everyone says devils don’t exist, and the stranger seems very polite…

“We didn’t mean to disturb. We just accidentally fell into the river while traveling overnight, and most of our luggage was washed away, but the kind God Oelde still looked after us, leaving us with a little bit of pocket money. I hope this is enough to buy a jug of milk and a loaf of bread from such a kind-hearted lady as yourself.”

Hearing the revered name of Oelde, the God of War, Mrs. Milou immediately calmed down, as it was the god her family worshiped.

Anyone who could invoke and pray to such a god couldn’t be evil, so perhaps this rabbit-headed man was under some kind of curse… She didn’t immediately open the garden gate, but politely asked the two gentlemen to wait a moment and then turned to wake her husband.

The Duke, standing silently behind the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, slowly asked, “How do you know their family worships the God of War?”

He admitted it was a clever trick. In the countryside, where basic education was rare, devotion to gods was almost blind, and indeed, this was the fastest way to gain trust.

“There was a wooden axe symbolizing the God of War in the mill last night. Sharing the same faith usually attracts the surrounding ants like a piece of candy, and neither locusts nor earthworms would come near. The village isn’t far from the manor, so it’s likely the same faith. I just took a small bet.”

And the bet paid off. The smug, rabbit-headed shopkeeper winked at the Duke, who disliked interacting with strangers.

Dwight almost lost his gentlemanly composure with a roll of his eyes.

“Dave! Dave!” Mrs. Milou said. “There are two outsiders at our yard wanting to come in for a rest.”

Dave, a red-haired man with a thick beard, got out of bed upon hearing this and put on his short coat. “Who are they? Do they carry weapons?”

“No weapons, and no horses. They said they fell into the river last night, and their luggage was washed away.” Mrs. Milou followed behind her husband. “They are dressed neatly and very polite gentlemen.”

The children were still asleep. Mrs. Milou quietly mentioned to her husband about the man with the rabbit head.

“Those who worship the God of War are forthright people. That poor man must be under some curse. Don’t make a big deal out of it and lose decorum,” Dave advised his wife.

Dave, who had once been a carpentry apprentice in the city, was more worldly than Mrs. Milou. Reassured by his words, she gathered her skirt and welcomed the two men inside. Only then did the couple get a clear look at their visitors—

Despite her husband’s reminder, Mrs. Milou couldn’t help but gasp. Not because of the rabbit head, but because the gentleman who followed him inside was so exquisitely handsome, she had never seen anyone so good-looking—almost unreal! The visitor’s features, demeanor, and presence seemed to strike a tangible impact, not just on Mrs. Milou, but Dave was also stunned.

Dwight glanced coldly at the dazed couple.

“This is my Lord, Xavier, from Syriacochi,” Charlie hurried to introduce before Dwight reacted.

His Lordship—a nobleman! No, of course, he must be a noble, for how else could one possess such looks and bearings? Dave, the head of the household, was the first to recover, immediately nudging his wife, no longer daring to look directly at the visitors, bowing as he invited them to sit, and hastily wiping the most formal chairs in the house.

Honestly, Dave, nearly a carpenter, was considered quite capable and well-off in the village, and the furniture was the most respectable in the area, but now, in the presence of such distinguished guests, everything seemed so modest. The couple suddenly felt anxious, and the unusual rabbit head of the other gentleman was momentarily forgotten.

Fortunately, the gentleman was very gracious, not minding their rudeness. Dave served the best apple cider and bread they had, and Mrs. Milou quietly woke the children and unusually allowed them to have some coarse bread to send them out.

“We set off from Syriacochi intending to visit relatives in the Holy City of Franly, but our guide led us astray, and we encountered an accident. Fortunately, the God of War is merciful to His lost followers, guiding us to follow the river downstream, and indeed, we encountered this kind and prosperous village. What is the name of this village?” Charlie asked.

“Your Lordship, this is Horn Village, fifty miles south of Ropappas City,” Dave carefully said. “I once heard from a merchant in the city that it takes five days to ride the fastest horse from Ropappas to the Royal City, and ten to fifteen days by carriage.”

He felt the noble lord surely wanted to return as soon as possible.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper said gently, “We need to buy servants and a carriage… Perhaps there is a workshop in the village that sells carriages?”

Dave shook his head. “Your Lordship, carriages are for the gentry. People in Horn Village don’t have that luxury. We make what we need in the village, and what we can’t make, we buy in the city.”

The shopkeeper showed a fittingly troubled expression. “Fifty miles isn’t a short distance for those weary in body and mind. I can barely manage, but my master absolutely cannot endure another such journey. Perhaps we could buy two horses?”

Dave found himself even more troubled.

Compared to private estates and manors, although Horn Village was relatively autonomous under administrative governance, it also faced heavy taxes. No household could afford to use horses for work.

They had donkeys, but even if they were willing to sell, a noble lord couldn’t possibly travel on a donkey…

As Mrs. Milou came in with a plate of fried eggs and heard this, she hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “Then, how about buying from Thorn Manor? That lord is very wealthy…”

Dave nodded. “There’s a manor over the hill. The lord of that manor is wealthy, and it’s said that he has dozens of fine horses in his stables. He would surely be willing to extend his hand to Your Lordship.”

Charlie noted that Dave referred to the manor’s owner as “Lord”.

“Does the manor owner not have a title?” Charlie asked casually.

“Thorn Manor was originally the property of a Viscount from Syriacochi, but after he fell into hardship, it was bought by the current lord. The manor would certainly be eager to assist such an esteemed person,” Dave said. “That was just five years ago. The manor doesn’t really interact much with the surrounding towns. We’re the nearest village to them, and our relationship is neither close nor distant, but the people in their village are quite decent.”

Mrs. Milou and Dave clearly weren’t in a social class that had direct access to the lord of the manor, and after racking their brains, they could say no more about Thorn Manor. They left apologetically, rubbing their hands and leaving the brightest living room for their guests to “enjoy” their food.

Mokwen was a typical inland kingdom, and small villages like Horn Village still used crude salt with a backward processing method, which itself carried a harsh taste. Mrs. Milou, probably fearing that she might neglect her distinguished guests, added quite a bit more, making the fried eggs both salty and bitter. Even the Duke, who had become accustomed to camping outdoors, found it hard to swallow, whereas the rabbit-headed shopkeeper seemed to enjoy everything and showed no signs of last night’s distress.

“So, are we going back to the manor where the carriages are?” the Duke purposely asked him. “That’s the only place with a carriage.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “Did you throw everything I said last night into the garden? We—absolutely—cannot—get close—to the Lamp Bearers. Although I don’t know what the background of the lord of Thorn Manor is, anyone associated with the Lamp Bearers cannot be good. Hmm, this explains the actions of dragging bodies into the forest to bury at midnight and the tales of maids disappearing like fairy tales. That manor must be exploring some sort of clandestine ritual… But usually, those fond of dark magic don’t have the means or the ability to contact the Lamp Bearers. Only groups with sufficient power and authority can.”

“What does the appearance of the Lamp Bearers imply?” the Duke pressed.

Judging from the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s demeanor, he sensed that these ominous beings were a taboo, but the shopkeeper clung tightly to his silence.

This only piqued his curiosity more.

“In the noble circles of Pennigra, there are followers of the God of Darkness, but the Dwight family has never heard of the Lamp Bearers from them.” Dwight sat in the cluttered little farmhouse, yet his demeanor was still as if he were sitting in a magnificent hall. “If they are not what you call ‘groups with sufficient power and authority’, then it must be the Black Gold Families. After centuries of mutual containment and attrition, their territories have waxed and waned. Could someone be attempting to reshuffle powers using the strength of a dark god? If Thorn Manor is backed by one of the Black Gold Families, then who could it be?”

The Duke of Brandenburg turned his face towards the window. The sunlight gently dusted his nose with gold, but his profile remained sharply cold. “Is it the Foxs, who master passion and intelligence? Or the Lions, who deal in forbidden drugs and violence? Or perhaps the Monkeys who oversee the underground trade, or the irrational gamblers, the Wolfs?”

Mrs. Milou had planted some insect-repelling herbs under the window. Their fragrance slightly diluted the smell of the fried eggs in the room.

The young Duke unconsciously tapped on the wooden table contemplatively. “These monstrous creatures in the sewers depend on each other yet resist one another. It’s very likely that any one of them might resort to underhanded tactics.”

Charlie drank the last of his wine, not joining the conversation.

These names, like summoning demons in any city’s underbelly, spoken by the Duke in a careless, half-mocking tone, suddenly gave him a sense of absurd unreality.

Monstrous creatures… Indeed, he thought the description couldn’t be more apt.

“Whoever it is, we have no need to get involved with them,” he pointed out calmly. “The best thing now is to find Columbus and then stay away from these suspicious people and events. It’s unwise to invite complications at any time.”

The Duke’s train of thought was interrupted, and he glanced at him with displeasure, but he inwardly admitted the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s point was valid.

If they were in Lemema, he had wealth and power at his disposal and could track down anything that interested him—even the color of the Emperor’s underwear—of course, a respectable nobleman would never do such a thing.

But on the vulnerable continent of Doran, excessive curiosity could very well bring deadly trouble.

“Ridiculous. Why would we get involved with them?” The Duke snorted. “Let that peasant woman clean my cloak, and then we’ll have a decent dinner. Shivers should be able to find us by the markers soon. As for that tin soldier, if folding hands in prayer and your little magic tricks for finding people work, his safety won’t be a problem. We’ll be able to leave here quietly soon enough.”

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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 41

“What is that?” Shivers squinted, straining to see more clearly. “Is that a light?”

Eugene, like a deflated balloon, lay lifelessly at his feet, barely looking up. “Where do you see light? I only see the moon.”

“Get up,” Shivers said unsympathetically, half-pulling him to his feet. “You’re too weak. Even the youngest squire in my team is stronger than you.”

Eugene was dissatisfied. “After choking nearly to death and walking most of the night, it’s amazing I can still breathe—is it a crime to be an ordinary person?”

“Stop complaining. We need to find them quickly.” Shivers tried to recognize the surroundings, looking for any signs left by the Duke, but it was too dark to see any trace on the trees and rocks.

This made the Knight Commander a bit anxious. Although the Duke himself wasn’t weak in combat, he always felt uneasy not having him in sight—after all, his master wasn’t someone who had to personally deal with every little trouble. All he could do now was pray that at least Charlie was with the Duke, looking out for each other. Thinking of this, he exhaled roughly, pushing Eugene a bit rudely, urging him to walk towards the faint light in the distance.

In most cases, Shivers was willing to be a gentleman, but if the other party was a lazy pig who wouldn’t move without a whip, he had no choice but to adopt the stern attitude he used to train new knights.

“Can’t we walk when it’s light?” Eugene reluctantly dragged his feet. The fatigue from escaping death in the water made him just want to close his eyes and sleep.

“No. We can’t be separated for too long,” Shivers said succinctly. “In the dark, people instinctively move towards the light, and it will be hard to determine that direction once it’s light.”

It took a while for Eugene to realize what the Knight Commander was saying, and he perked up a bit. “Is it really a light?”

He immediately thought of the farmhouses in the fields, with their heavy wooden doors blocking the cold wind outside, warm gas lamps inside, the smell of pine burning in the fireplace, and the scent of roasted chicken from dinner. A plump hostess would kindly offer the spot nearest to the fireplace to lost travelers, diligently serving bread and hot milk… Suddenly, he felt strength return to his legs.

Shivers, frowning, hurried him along without an immediate response. Initially, it was a flickering, very small light point, moving quite fast, probably a carriage lamp. Later, it became a fixed patch of light, likely stopped at a tavern or inn—the people who had already gone to bed lit lamps had rekindled the stove for the arriving carriage, making the light bright enough that even Eugene could see. This was a reasonable assumption, but for some reason, he felt a vague unease, like walking in a pitch-dark sewer, sensing creatures lurking in the dark—although invisible, that evil aura heightened his entire body’s defensive instincts to the extreme.

He worried about the Duke facing unpleasant malice head-on. It was his duty to stand guard with his sword before danger approached, but at the moment, he…

“They should be fine,” Eugene suddenly muttered.

Shivers turned to look at him.

“Your Lord, when he fights, he’s ruthlessly unlike a person. Over in the Green Woods, he broke a horse trader’s nose with a single cane strike, and that trader was a former soldier,” Eugene said. “So, no matter his appearance… Nobody dares underestimate him.”

Eugene considered himself a rakish scoundrel, and in a different setting, although he wouldn’t act disrespectfully in the presence of a crowd of nobles, he would still make jokes about Dwight in private. But after a fight on the edge of the Green Woods, to be honest, Eugene still didn’t dare to look directly at this Duke, who, despite his gentle appearance, had fists much harder than his own.

Shivers paused, realizing that the other seemed to sense his anxiety and was trying to reassure him, and suddenly smiled.

“You’re right. The Duke is strong.” The Knight Commander’s blond hair, dried by the wind, shone under the moonlight.

Eugene just breathed a sigh of relief when his collar was yanked again.

“But letting the master worry is also a knight’s dereliction of duty.” Shivers’s bright smile disappeared in an instant. “We must reach his side to support him as soon as possible, so move your lazy ass. We can’t let them touch him.”

“‘Them’?” Noticing Shivers’ word choice, Eugene was puzzled. In this wilderness, he didn’t think there were any creatures other than field mice and owls.

“I don’t know, but my gut tells me, those guys behind the lights, they’re not…” Shivers adjusted his wording carefully, cautiously saying, “Humans. At least not ordinary humans.”

“What do you mean they’re not human?”

Two figures quickly slid down the slope. The dew on the grass tips before dawn wetted their hems.

The invisibility potion didn’t make them truly invisible, but after drinking it, their scent completely merged with the surrounding environment, making them undetectable even to trained hunting dogs, as long as they remained hidden.

Charlie didn’t look back the whole way. Dwight felt that even the rabbit fur on his face was stiffly bristled, the whole person was like a perpetually alert giant hedgehog.

“They’re not natural creations. They’re the poisonous weeds that sprout at the feet of demons—the incarnations of dry bones in graves, immortal and evil creatures.” His voice, which was normally comforting and effortless, was now cold and hard, as if the words themselves could collide with a crisp clatter. “Extremely ominous, not to be tested, looked at, or touched.”

Dwight watched his firm back, feeling a strange sensation.

It was as if a delicate and novel but lifeless ornament that had been hanging on the wall suddenly gained a bit of warmth, sparking a bit of interest to look more closely.

‘He’s scared,’ Dwight thought.

The Duke, like a child who had discovered a new toy, was no longer particularly concerned about the other’s impolite act of forcing him to drink the strange potion. Instead, he observed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s back under the dim light of the North Star.

“So, they’re demons?” The Duke drawled. In this era when gods had fallen and demons had vanished, there still existed evil beings, neither human nor ghost. Sometimes these were remnants of the power left by demons who once roamed the land, and sometimes they were the nefarious products of black magic or alchemy, existing in various forms, but they could be destroyed by the church and mages. They were collectively known as demons.

They stopped only when they were as far away from the manor as possible.

“Strictly speaking, they’re not demons, as holy water and magic have little direct effect on them,” Charlie said, panting. It was just beginning to dawn, but he still pulled out a palm-sized pocket lighter from his coat pocket, briefly used the light to check the surroundings, then snapped it shut.

“They are ‘Lamp Bearers’,” he said in a whisper, finding a relatively flat piece of ground to sit. “No one knows where they come from or how long they have existed. They are immortal spirits that exist only for an ancient mission and cannot be commanded by outsiders.”

“Lamp Bearers… I remember similar beings in the scriptures of Legolas, the God of Darkness” Dwight said slowly. “I once visited their Starry Cathedral when I was a child. Inside, the murals depicted cloaked figures holding candlesticks, bowing as they led the way for the gods, named Chimichus, which in ancient Guchira language means ‘Gravedigger’.”

The sky gradually tinted crimson, and the air became moist and fresh.

Charlie gradually regained his composure, tipping the brim of his hat at Dwight. “Nowadays, people’s main worship has shifted from the three great gods of Darkness, Light, and Life to the gods of Sky, Earth, Sea, as well as War, Harvest, and Wealth. The once mighty three main gods have become historical symbols over time, greater in symbolic than actual significance, and even scholars studying these beliefs are no longer active. That you could accurately identify Chimichus is truly indicative of your extensive knowledge.”

“The Church’s definition of Chimichus does indeed have similarities with the Lamp Bearers. It might be a symbol rewritten from the Lamp Bearers after historical distortions. On the surface, ‘lamp bearing’ and ‘grave digging’ indeed convey the same idea—’searching’, but deeper aspects have not been unearthed or expressed… In the teachings of the God of Darkness, Chimichus exists to light the way for the gods, but the Lamp Bearers aren’t actually lighting the way for their masters. They carry the light, passing through forests, swamps, and busy streets, and following their steps, one can find a certain hidden and forbidden existence.”

He stopped there, shutting his mouth. Dwight, clearly unsatisfied, pressed, “What existence?”

Charlie made a strange expression between a smile and a frown, seemingly trying to lighten the serious atmosphere, but failed. “It’s taboo. Those who know wouldn’t easily disclose it. Everything about the Lamp Bearers is something I’ve deduced from appearances, which may not be accurate.”

Seeing Dwight’s face fall, he added, “But one thing I am sure of is that the ‘Lamp Bearers’ are as ominous as a plague. They have no emotions or logic, nor do they attack humans, but once humans come into contact with them, only regrettable outcomes follow. The wise course is to stay as far away from them as possible before the curse takes effect.”

Dwight looked at him with a half-smile, his customary mocking expression clearly conveying, “I know you’re not telling the whole truth”. But one of the old nobility’s virtues was being very perceptive, usually not indulging in unsightly prying when the other party was unwilling.

Besides, the shopkeeper had thick skin even before he turned into a rabbit-headed man, and now with an extra layer of fur, he cared even less, nonchalantly saying, “So it’s best we don’t go near that manor. The Lord of that manor’s problems are worse than we thought.”

“Let’s go downstream along the river. There should be more villages along it to buy a carriage… or a fine horse. Shivers will catch up,” Dwight said with disgust as he glanced at his coat, smeared with mud and grass. As the daylight grew brighter, he became increasingly intolerant of his own disheveled appearance.

Charlie was somewhat surprised by the Duke’s agreeableness, as it was usually the case that “if Rabbit Head dislikes something, he has to try doing it”. However, a night of disarray must have been quite unbearable for the Duke of Brandenburg, whose need for a hot bath and clean sheets surpassed his usual penchant for troubling Charlie.

Once the Duke recovered, he would probably continue to pursue the matter of the Lamp Bearers, Charlie thought, his head buzzing. Earlier, he had anticipated that they might encounter traces of the Lamp Bearers on the continent of Doran, but he didn’t expect to nearly face them so soon. It was the worst-case scenario—just seeing them from afar still left him with the shudder of a venomous reptile slithering over his spine, a threat to his life lingering long after.

They must find Columbus as soon as possible and leave this dangerous area. If necessary, he could summon Darby Belly Fish again… With this thought, Charlie turned to look deeply in the direction of the manor, pressed the brim of his top hat, and hurriedly followed the Duke, stepping on the dew, along the river.

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The author has something to say:

Charlie’s words and actions are somewhat contradictory, but it’s not a bug. He just isn’t telling the whole truth.

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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 40

“What did you put in the tea?” Dwight tightened his finally dried cloak. His light golden hair cast a faint halo under the moonlight, making his expressionless face appear particularly indifferent.

“Just a bit of strong liquor to warm the body,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said casually. “It has a good sedative effect, perfect for Tom tired from crying.”

Behind them, the light leaking from the mill was dim, and the sleeping Tom was oblivious, curled up beside the stove, trying to soak up some warmth before the fire went out completely.

The two quietly crossed the silent village, whispering their thoughts to each other.

“Only the darkest of black magic would use living sacrifices,” Charlie analyzed. “Tom said we’re at least 140 miles from Syriacochi, far from the central nobility’s power. There might be a few small towns nearby, so it’s possible to deceive country girls looking for work. The manor is highly autonomous, so there haven’t been any slip-ups…”

Unlike the relatively stable situation in Pennigra, the continent of Doran had been plagued by wars due to fragmented kingdoms, breeding seeds of misfortune beyond death and poverty—it was also a breeding ground for illegal faiths. During his stay in Mokwen’s Royal City, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper noticed that apart from the widespread Church of Light, the spiritual beliefs among the citizens were quite mixed, including some sects deemed by those in power as worshiping evil gods, which followers called the New Faith. In less affluent and stable areas, these misleading beliefs were a lifeline for the common folk.

“Is the lord of this manor a follower of the New Faith?” Dwight said wearily. “Either way, it’s none of our business.”

Rather than peculiar cases of missing women, he was more concerned about meeting up with his Knight Commander. The Duke was confident in his combat and survival skills, but that didn’t mean he liked to handle everything personally, especially now, with only a clumsy Rabbit Head by his side.

This wasn’t to say that Charlie was an unqualified companion. On the contrary, he was accustomed to treating everyone around him with meticulous care. Even without servants, the shopkeeper could manage the Duke from head to toe under limited conditions. But Charlie and the Knight Commander were fundamentally different; Shivers was wholeheartedly dedicated to his master, but this Rabbit Head—Dwight still couldn’t fully see through him. His rabbit brain seemed like a mask, hiding something deep beneath his demeanor.

This was a trait all nobles disliked. They preferred simple-minded fools who were easy to manipulate and control, like the sobbing Tom…

“The guys in the woods mentioned a witch,” Charlie said frankly, unaware of Dwight’s complex thoughts. “We’re close to Elena’s territory, and witches are territorial. If Elena is still alive, she likely wouldn’t allow another of her kind on her doorstep.”

“Do you think those bodies are related to Elena?” Dwight frowned. “If so, she’s probably not the little schoolgirl you knew—”

The Duke paused, then added in a mockingly sweet tone, “Anymore.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper tipped his hat and smiled at the Duke. “Your Grace, I understand the danger she poses. Right now, we’re on our own, and whether it’s Elena or not, confronting a witch head-on is unwise, but a side investigation could yield useful information and help us reconnect with our lost companions.”

The Duke looked at him with a “go ahead, I’m listening” expression on his face.

“First rule of getting lost: don’t wander off. Stay where you are and wait for the lord to return and find you.” The rabbit-headed shopkeeper winked. “So before we reunite with everyone, it’s best not to stray more than 15 miles from the point where we got separated…”

“Cut the crap. You just want to know the truth about that mansion,” Dwight said expressionlessly. Growing up in a superior family environment didn’t make the Duke a sheltered flower. On the contrary, learning how to survive in dangerous or extreme conditions was a mandatory part of the Dwight family curriculum—only for heirs.

As far as family succession was concerned, aside from natural changes, the presence of the head of the family was always the primary priority. After determining the Knight Commander was lost, the Duke had already left codes only a Dwight family knight could decipher, and if Shivers wasn’t too far off, he would eventually find his way.

“Right,” Charlie said cheerfully. “My intuition tells me this information will be useful.”

The Duke crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Alright, assuming your intuition is correct, how do we “investigate sideways”? No matter if it’s a witch or a whore, they won’t be unprotected for us to just spy on.”

A quarter of an hour later, under the cover of the last of the night and roadside bushes, the two quietly ascended a hillside. The mansion, unlit, sat like a quiet, black beast perched halfway up the hill, silently and dangerously watching everything that approached.

Charlie didn’t choose the main road. The manor owner usually had a security system set up far from the mansion’s outer perimeter, and he didn’t want to risk it.

When they stopped a distance from the servant quarters and stables around the mansion, they took a very thin notebook from their coats. His fingers were long and nimble, almost not needing illumination to quickly fold a beautiful little bird.

“A friend and I once specialized in studying the transformations of magical formations in Monterey. By making slight adjustments to the basic formula, there’s a good chance of obtaining additional benefits… I call this transformation formula the ‘Gray Sentinel’,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said proudly, pulling out a dry-ink pen and quickly drawing a magical formation on the wings of a small bird. “It doesn’t require borrowing or converting life, has no attack capability, but possesses a very sensitive warning mechanism, and can explore within a limited range on behalf of its master. My friend likes to use human-shaped paper figures for the operation, but I think small animal forms are fuller.”

Dwight watched his movements without speaking. Although the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had never shown any extraordinary magical talent, his thinking pattern and theoretical application in magic were undoubtedly exceptional. Dwight had seen many great mages who stubbornly believed magic was a divine gift, and any research or experimentation born of skepticism was a blasphemy against the gods. If those old coots saw Rabbit Head so casually altering magical formations, even if not for any critical purposes, it would be enough to raise their blood pressure and make them scream heresy…

Charlie didn’t notice the Duke’s slight distraction. As he finished the last stroke, the paper bird immediately fluttered its wings, lively in his palm.

“Your name is,” Charlie glanced at the bushes, “‘Berry’. I need you to go into that mansion above for me and…”

Before he could finish, the little bird suddenly trembled nervously, as if an invisible hurricane was brewing in Charlie’s palm—next second, its sharp beak opened wide, and a burst of flame shot out from the tips of its wings, engulfing the half-palm-sized bird almost instantly.

“What does this mean?” Dwight frowned. “Is self-immolation part of the magic too?”

Charlie stared at the little ash left in his palm for half a second, then suddenly grabbed Dwight and ran back the way they came. His top hat dangerously wobbled as he ran, but Charlie ignored it, clutching Dwight’s wrist tightly and running as if the mansion would explode and swallow them at any moment.

Without needing an explanation, Dwight also immediately realized something was wrong. He wanted to look back to see what had happened, but Charlie, holding him tightly, suddenly made a sharp turn and pulled him into a small hollow, then forcefully suppressed his heavy breathing.

The Duke followed his gaze down to the foothill. The sky before dawn was still dark, the creatures on the farm were all asleep, and it seemed no different from before. But on the distant road, several faint lights flickered like will-o’-wisps.

Although dim, the lights moved quickly, growing larger in just a few breaths. By the time the two were hiding behind a large stone covered with wet, slippery moss, the sharp-eyed Duke could make out that these were wind lamps swaying with the jolting of a carriage.

It was still not daylight. Who would visit this manor before dawn? Was it the owner returning? Dwight withdrew his gaze and looked at Charlie. The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, unusually out of breath, was taking out several crystal vials of different sizes and shapes from his coat. By the moonlight, some bottles contained strangely colored liquids, while others clearly held man-made crystals. Whether due to the cold night or nervousness, his fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly, but he skillfully poured the contents of the vials into a large-bellied bottle. In the eerily quiet surroundings, the clinking of the vials was particularly clear. Charlie quickly screwed on the cap of the large bottle and peeked out.

The carriage was nearing the foothill. “I’ll explain later—” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said quickly, shaking the large bottle vigorously, then unscrewing the cap and handing it to the Duke.

“Take a sip, just a small one,” he urged. “Quick.”

“Wait… What is this?” Dwight almost instinctively resisted. As Duke Dwight, he would never drink an unknown substance under such mysterious circumstances.

“It’s an invisibility potion.” The shopkeeper became more frantic, almost pressing the bottle to the Duke’s lips. “You don’t understand. I—we can’t be seen. They must not find us.”

“They” were undoubtedly the sudden appearance of the carriage. But it was just a carriage—why was Charlie acting as if he suddenly faced a great enemy? From such a distance, he couldn’t possibly know who was sitting in the carriage, and yet the usually composed Charlie was nervous. This sudden change was prompted by… the paper bird’s warning? Why the warning? They were from Pennigra. What force on the continent of Doran could pose a threat to them?

Dwight’s light-colored eyes narrowed slightly as he took the vial but didn’t drink immediately.

“Who’s in the carriage?”

His fingers touched the shopkeeper’s, which were as cold as ice in the middle of a winter river.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper withdrew his hand and said in a low, sigh-like tone, “They are the ‘Lamp Bearers’.”

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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 39

Dwight made a decision in just three seconds—to follow those people.

Charlie seemed to have an understanding with him, and without further communication, the two quietly trailed the creaking donkey cart, silently moving out of the forest.

The cart went straight through a vineyard and headed towards a sparsely lit mansion on the hillside, with a moderately sized estate resting quietly at the foot of the hill in the silent night.

“As long as there are people, Shivers will be able to find the right direction.” The Duke took off his half-dried cloak in disgust and was instinctively about to fling it away—fortunately, his reason reminded him that he wasn’t in Brandenburg, where clothes were plentiful. At the rate he was discarding clothes, he’d be naked within a week.

So, he reluctantly carried it in his hand, with a look of distaste.

“The scent of the baked goods could also guide the lost Eugene.” Charlie, pinching his also damp hat, smiled. “Let’s first think about ourselves, Your Grace. I see a mill ahead.”

In a place like the Doran continent, where wars were frequent, any lord capable of claiming land would try to form a self-sufficient, closed loop on his estate, with the basics: a farmhouse, winery, mill, forest, pasture, bakery, and even a church and court. They easily found the bakery near the mill, along with an oven that still had embers.

Dwight had seen Charlie’s house in Maplewood. Although not grand and luxurious, it was definitely warm and comfortable. From the complete set of brass-handled handmade porcelain tea sets in his living room, one could tell that this man wasn’t luxurious, but he definitely had refined demands for life’s details. Even during travel, when dining under the sky, he maintained tidiness and dignity. From his usual demeanor, announcing to anyone that he was actually a noble wouldn’t surprise anyone.

So when he expertly rekindled the fire, filled a large black iron kettle with water to sit on the fire, and used a few sticks to set up a makeshift clothes rack to dry their clothes, the Duke was somewhat surprised. Not that he was doing these things, but at how naturally and comfortably he moved while doing them, as if he was a child who had grown up rolling in the ashes by the stove—this rabbit-headed shopkeeper even knew without looking that the sugar jar on the wall shelf contained damp, impure coarse sugar while the fine sugar was secretly wrapped in paper and hung from the ceiling beam!

Charlie misunderstood the Duke’s expression, checking the boiling water as he explained, “The tea here is just the scraps left over after offering to the lord, you might not be used to it. It’s better with a bit of sugar.”

Dwight was silent for a moment. “How could there be tea leaves in a farmhouse bakery?” Even just scraps were beyond what ordinary peasants could afford.

The shopkeeper smiled. “It’s not for the serfs, but to serve the tax collectors or priests and occasionally the lords passing through—actually, just the more respectable servants in the mansion. Although not in large quantities, a farm will definitely have some.”

He casually took a cup, rinsed it with hot water, poured the precious tea into it, and handed it to the Duke. Dwight frowned. Although the fire wasn’t very bright, it was enough for him to see that the filthy cup was also covered in a layer of hard, weathered grime.

“We just climbed out of the river and have been in the cold wind for a long time. You must drink this.” The shopkeeper didn’t need to look up to feel the Duke’s reluctance. “Otherwise, by this time tomorrow, we’ll both be sick.”

Dwight gave him a look.

“This is a private estate. Do you think the ‘witch’ mentioned by those men has something to do with Elena?” he asked.

“Very likely.” Perhaps too exhausted to spar with Dwight as usual, Charlie was unusually responsive. “Although I don’t know the speed of the Darby Belly Fish, based on the time, even if we left the Mokwen borders, we wouldn’t be very far. In this area, the first person that comes to mind when you say ‘witch’ is Elena.”

“Are those bodies related to her? Is this her study of black magic?” Dwight’s expression turned serious.

“Witch” was a general term, but there were distinctions based on the source of their power.

From what’s known about witches on the mainland, their power sources could be broadly categorized into several types: first, those who gained recognition through systematic study and control of power, similar to most mages—though the last known instance was 300 years ago, making these “light” witches extremely rare; second, those who gained power through inheritance, such as learning from a teacher through apprenticeship, with power depending on the depth of the previous teacher and their own advancements; third, those who trade with spirits and demons, engaging in black magic—this was what made people extremely taboo and fearful.

In this age where miracles had long ceased, angels, demons, and powerful races like phoenixes and dragons that could easily affect the mainland’s politics disappeared centuries ago. Only the elves, a long-lived race, remained, but even their powers were significantly reduced after the war between gods and demons, with the elven king falling from his semi-divine throne into a deep slumber. This allowed humans to rise and grow, elevating the status of mages, who were once mere pawns in the war between gods and demons. Conversely, in a continent without demons, black magic that drew power from bones and living beings was now the most evil known power, which was why the term “witch” was so infamously notorious, despised, and feared along with necromancers.

“When I left Doran, Elena’s magic was still inherited from Lady Eve, although that’s hardly better than making deals with demons.”

The source of magical power was absolutely fair. Besides self-practice, any power gained through external means was unreliable, whether inherited, gifted, or seized. What seemed like a shortcut was actually full of invisible thorns, silently scraping away all flesh and soul—this was the introduction in all continental magic textbooks. Unfortunately, those who made their mark in the field of magic were still more often the latter than the former.

Perhaps getting something for nothing was an eternal human trait, and Elena was no exception.

For various reasons, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper rarely reminisced about the past, and even he didn’t realize that his expression was now more solemn than usual.

Dwight noticed this and discreetly placed the cup aside. “That was a long time ago.”

“You’re right,” Charlie admitted. “If the bodies in the forest are indeed related to her, then I can only regretfully say that she has taken another wrong step on her path to power.”

“This estate is downstream,” the Duke slowly said. “Whether it’s Shivers and Eugene, along with that noisy toy, they would head towards where people gather.” This meant that the likelihood of everyone meeting up at this estate was currently the highest.

“So we…” Charlie began but suddenly paused, his long ears twitching.

He heard some unusual noises outside.

“There’s a sheep pen next door,” he said. “There was really no one there when we came, right?”

Dwight didn’t respond. In the pitch-black night, did the rabbit-head expect him to grope into the sheep pen to check if someone was hiding inside? If it were in Lemena, he wouldn’t even allow the stinking goats near his carriage.

Charlie stood up, quietly walked to the door, and silently waited for a moment.

Outside, it was deathly quiet. Only the sound of the wind occasionally gushed through the door crack. The Duke sat motionlessly, watching his actions. The shopkeeper touched the door handle, took a deep breath, and abruptly pulled the door open!

A young man with tousled hair stumbled in as the door opened. He seemed to have been lying flat against the door. The sudden opening caused him to lose his balance, nearly crashing to the ground.

Dwight’s eyes dropped to his right hand, which rested silently on the cane beside him by the stove, the emerald on its tip glittering opulently in the firelight.

The shopkeeper seemed not to notice the Duke’s action. He bent down, hands on his knees, his voice tinged with surprise. “Oh my, are you alright, sir? I didn’t expect anyone to be outside.”

The man looked up, clearly startled. “A-a-a rabbit?”

“I’m not a rabbit,” the shopkeeper said seriously. “My name is Charlie.”

“I… I’m Tom,” the man replied instinctively, still perplexed.

From any angle, he looked like a rabbit. But why would a rabbit be talking? And why would it be dressed so finely and wearing a top hat?

Tom thought he might be dreaming. But the dreamlike scenario continued.

Sitting by the fireplace was… an unbelievable gentleman. Just one glance made Tom feel as if his breath was being stolen by a visage seemingly not of this world. Tom’s limited vocabulary couldn’t describe such beauty. He instinctively bowed his head, unable to look any longer.

Whatever the gentleman’s status, it wasn’t something he could confront openly.

The Duke’s hand moved away from the cane. He had realized this man was just a common farmer. Even if he didn’t act, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper could easily overpower him.

“Tom, you look very cold,” Charlie said kindly, pressing a cup of hot tea into his hands.

The wind outside was strong, and the warmth of the tea seemed to revive Tom a bit. He whispered, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were here.”

He had nowhere to go and had seen light from the mill, so he had come over.

Probably because the shopkeeper and the Duke were behaving too dominantly, Tom, who had never left the estate, didn’t sense anything suspicious about them. Instead, Charlie smiled congenially and said, “Tom, now is not a good time to be out.”

His voice was attractive and slightly deep, but the buoyant tone made him sound more vivacious than the typical posturing nobleman, easily disarming people.

Though the Duke’s assessment was, “Using second-rate tricks to beguile the heart.” But in reality, Charlie indeed had an incredible charm. Those who talked with him usually quickly overlooked his unusual, furry rabbit-head, drawn in by the content of his words.

The clearly inexperienced Tom didn’t even have time to voice his suspicions like “Who are you” or “Why are you in our village’s mill” and answered very honestly, “Because I had a fight with my father, I ran out of the house. It was too cold at night, and I thought of squeezing in with the animals in the stable for warmth.”

A local. The shopkeeper and the Duke exchanged glances.

“Fighting with family isn’t good,” Charlie said soothingly. “What is it that can’t be discussed?”

Tom looked downcast. “My fiancée Emily was chosen to serve the master. I wanted to sell our family’s donkey to bribe the steward to bring Emily back, but my father disagreed. Actually…”

Everyone disagreed. Tom knelt on the floor, burying his head between his legs. “They don’t understand that if Emily goes, she’ll never come back.”

Everyone was happy that Emily got a respectable job, but only Tom was terrified. His father didn’t understand, and they had a big fight before bed, so he ran away from home…

Though it was really just a “runaway” to the communal mill not far from his house.

Dwight frowned, remembering the donkey cart filled with bodies a few hours earlier and the direction the cart had eventually headed.

It was to the stately mansion up on the hill.

Charlie clearly thought of the same thing.

“Tom, have another sip of hot tea,” he said consolingly. “It’s still long until dawn. We can talk by the stove. Being chosen by the master isn’t a good thing, then? Why do you think Emily won’t come back?”

“Because many girls never come back.” Tom sniffled, fear in his eyes. “I go to the big house twice a week to take care of the donkeys, and I’ve heard old Hank and others say… the mansion often takes in new maids, but they always disappear unnoticed. They say the mansion is haunted, and they say…”

Tom didn’t finish his sentence, but Charlie and Dwight could guess what he left unsaid. Who would casually live in a haunted mansion unless the master of the house was also a ghost? Even if Tom was naive and shortsighted, he wouldn’t directly slander his master, so he simply shut his mouth.

The shopkeeper understood that this wasn’t necessarily because Tom was particularly loyal to the master of the house or wary of them, the two strangers, but rather, peasants like him, who had lived on the estate for generations, almost instinctively feared and deferred to their lord’s authority, especially young people like Tom. Instinct made them dare not speak ill of their master, not even speculatively.

But it was the likes of old Hank, probably employed from outside and quite the sly old fox, who would gossip about the master’s household when out of sight. Tom, with his honest face, even if he heard such talk, wouldn’t dare complain to anyone, allowing him to overhear some unusual things.

Typically, in such a gentry estate, not counting male servants, the main house would have 2–3 cooks, 6–8 general maids, no more than 3 personal maids, and 1 housekeeper, which was standard. If the estate owner held a title, more staff might be added according to the title, but it would generally not exceed 20 people. If the main house took in new maids every season, as old Hank and his peers said, always coming in but never leaving, that was very suspicious.

“According to this consumption, it’s enough to feed three vampires,” was the cynical saying among those old folks. No one knew where those mysteriously disappearing girls went. These physical laborers didn’t even have the privilege to step into the mansion’s garden, only knowing the main house was like a bizarre, insatiable black hole, continually absorbing new girls for work. These things… Only those who worked in the main house long enough would know, while the peasants working at the foot of the estate only cared whether there was enough black bread for the family tomorrow or whether this year’s winter would freeze someone to death.

But Tom knew. Usually, the maids were brought in from outside, but last time, probably due to a shortage, they began recruiting suitable girls from their own estate, offering fairly good wages, and Emily was nominated by her brother at that time. Because Emily was a healthy, unmarried young woman, she was smoothly chosen.

In another context, neither the Duke nor the shopkeeper would pay much attention to such a story. The reason was simple. Though many high-society nobles or wealthy merchants liked to pose as cultured behind closed doors, there were plenty of dirty dealings—especially among some old families proud of their pure bloodlines and unwilling to marry outsiders. Their offspring often had various problems, including a high proportion of idiocy and brutality. If the master of the hilltop mansion was a prone-to-rage tyrant, killing one or two servants in a fit of rage every year wouldn’t be news, and a well-trained steward would silently handle any clues that might attract the attention of the sheriff or the church.

But given the scene they encountered in the woods, even for a tyrant, the loss rate was unusually high, not to mention just for a gentry or nobleman. Old Hank’s sarcasm was apt. This situation was highly unusual.

Tom’s instincts were right. His fiancée was likely never coming back.

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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 38

Eugene’s dark guess was entirely driven by his survival instinct.

Because he couldn’t swim. If he really got thrown into the water like a fish expelling its young, sinking was the only outcome he could think of.

Fortunately, the Darby Belly Fish didn’t take them on an impromptu gastrointestinal tour. After compressing them to their limits, like dried fish, it suddenly inflated them again and spat them out like bubbles.

But for Eugene, the situation didn’t improve, as the Darby Belly Fish chose to drop its passengers into the water, and it was a very turbulent river.

“Ahhhhhhhhh—ow ow ow ow!” Eugene frantically grabbed the nearest person, who roared back, “Calm down!”

Eugene grabbed Shivers’ beautiful blonde hair as if it were a rope. Shivers was desperate to check on the Duke and wished he could knock Eugene out to end the chaos. But in such circumstances, Eugene displayed remarkable potential, clinging tightly to Shivers, who could usually toss him aside with a punch, and began to drag him down too.

It was unclear why the Darby Belly Fish thought this was an ideal drop-off point. Just as Shivers was nearly drowned by Eugene’s panicked actions, Dwight was also caught off guard by the sudden rapid currents, but he was better off than Shivers, as the shopkeeper next to him wasn’t a panicking liability.

Charlie seemed to have been mentally prepared for the Darby Belly Fish’s lack of consideration. After a brief adjustment, he calmed down and tried to spot the direction of the riverbank in the water. After struggling to swim a few miles, the two barely managed to reach a gentler bay and eventually clambered onto the riverbank. The Duke of Brandenburg nearly rolled his eyes back in exhaustion.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper, panting, dragged Dwight ashore and looked up at the night sky. The stars were cold and bright, telling him it was probably after midnight. There was silence in the nearby bushes, and not even the sound of insects could be heard.

“Columbus—and Shivers…” the shopkeeper coughed while fumbling in his soaked coat. “I didn’t manage to grab them in the water.”

“Shivers is a good swimmer,” the Duke said irritably. “The tin soldier can’t drown. That little wretch is the real danger. He grew up inland.”

Charlie suddenly laughed. “You’re worried about Eugene?”

Dwight said, “I’m worried he’ll drag Shivers down with him and drown.”

The shopkeeper shrugged and went back into the river.

“What’s wrong with you?” the Duke exclaimed, astonished, as he watched the rabbit-headed shopkeeper head back into the water.

Charlie seemed to be searching for something in the water. A small halo of light gradually appeared in his hand, looking from behind like he was holding a mini lantern over the water surface, but apart from a sodden piece of wood, nothing else seemed to flow downstream.

Dwight’s cloak was waterproof, but the clothes inside were soaked through after being washed into the river. It was heavy and cold, hanging on his body. He was about to angrily tell the shopkeeper to stop wasting energy trying to fish people out of the river when a cool night breeze brushed past him with an unusual rustle.

The Duke, whose senses were quite sharp, perked up his ears immediately. “?!”

The forest at night was never quiet. By concentrating, one could hear the rustling of rodents foraging, the chirps of crickets, spinnerets, and unknown insects on the leaves, and even the sound of snakes slowly sliding over the grass. But among these subtle sounds, he seemed to hear a discordant scraping noise.

It sounded like the crisp sound of metal or wood colliding—the sound of human-made objects. As he tensed his body to listen again, the noise vanished.

The Duke turned his head, annoyed to find the rabbit-headed shopkeeper still looking around.

“Stop looking,” Dwight whispered.

Charlie was startled, and the light in his hand immediately went out.

Not completely beyond help.

Dwight’s anger slightly subsided, and he gestured to the shopkeeper, who was approaching him again.

Charlie turned his face to listen, his long ears twitching. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It seems I can’t rely on you.” Dwight scoffed. “What’s the use of having such big ears?”

“Ears or not, I’m still human,” the shopkeeper said patiently. To avoid alarming whatever or whoever was in the forest, they spoke in hushed tones, nearly pressing against each other. If someone had seen them under the moonlight and against the backdrop of the river sounds, they would look like lovers eloping in the night, whispering secrets.

Dwight also realized the atmosphere was a bit strange and slightly distanced himself. “Who would be in the forest in the middle of the night?”

Charlie was tempted to crack a joke, “Aren’t we the same?” but he sensed that the Duke was in a foul mood, and joking might lead to a prompt execution right there.

“There are only two kinds of people who like the moonlit night and the forest,” the shopkeeper said seriously as they quietly walked deeper into the forest. “Werewolves and witches. Which do you think it is?”

While this might sound somewhat casual, Dwight knew the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was serious.

In Pennigra, there were almost no wild werewolves left. This difficult-to-control race, prone to losing their sanity, had been semi-exiled since the last century. They were pushed by the allied forces deep into uninhabited areas of the plains, given territories with nominal self-rule but effectively isolated from other races. Charlie couldn’t judge whether this sweeping policy was correct, but it indeed prevented the scenario where physically weaker races became prey to werewolves, providing a relatively stable chip for Pennigra’s non-violent development.

But now they were on the Doran continent, where no powerful federal or national control existed. According to some continent-crossing rangers, some kingdoms on Doran even incorporated werewolves into their armies due to their physical strength and combat prowess, making them part of their competitive drive for imperial power. Whether exiled or enlisted, one thing was indisputable: werewolves are extremely dangerous.

That’s not to say that witches weren’t dangerous. They were often quite mad, but at least they didn’t have the massive bodies, sharp fangs, and claws like wild beasts. Moreover, most legends about witches and forests had a somewhat mischievous aspect… The most common belief was that witches set up magical circles in the forest based on the moon phases and lit bonfires to brew potions and summon demons. Various demons would come to the human world aided by the light of the bonfires, engaging wantonly with the witches. If a lost soul stumbled upon this wicked ritual, they would be drawn in, and by sunrise, the witches and demons would have left, leaving behind only a dried-up crucible, unburned logs, various lizard skins, cat skulls, and the desiccated corpses of the unfortunate passersby.

Being a man himself, Dwight certainly understood what the shopkeeper meant—no matter how terrifying the tale, lust always came first, a common trait among all male creatures. But these two options were only a choice between bad and worse. In their current soaked condition and with only the two of them, even the Duke couldn’t proudly claim, “As a man, of course, I must face the beast and fight for glory until death”—that would be just pretty nonsense.

Nor did it mean he was keen to witness witches and demons getting up to mischief in the pitch-black forest. The voluptuous witches of popular imagination were mostly a product of worldly lust. From the witch incidents he’d seen, long periods of isolation and strange alchemical experiments had made many witches look stranger than the demons themselves. Those who could use magic to maintain their youth and beauty were the well-known grand witches. A witch of that status might be wealthier than a noble with lands, hardly likely to run into a small forest to make bodily sacrifices to lowly demons… Anyone who took such stories seriously was surely a fool.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s hearing wasn’t physiologically weak, but it was the Duke of Brandenburg, often derided for being more sensitive than an elven girl, who could catch the faintest noises in the air, leading them towards the source of the sound. The deeper they went into the forest, the more they felt something was off—dim lights flickered through the sparse and dense tree trunks. They stopped some distance from the light source and listened quietly.

It was definitely not werewolves.

At this distance, any werewolf with their keen sense of smell would have detected them.

As for witches… it seemed not to be the case either. They didn’t smell burning potions. Instead, a faint scent of blood mingled into the air.

“Thieves?” Dwight frowned.

In areas without town jurisdiction and under noble rule, encountering thieves wasn’t unusual, which was also why civilian mobility rates were so low across continents. Travelers and merchant caravans that strayed from major roads could easily become targets for thieves, often meeting untimely ends in foreign lands. The common practice among these highway robbers was to kill for loot and then dispose of the bodies in swamps or throw them off cliffs. The sounds coming from the forest suggested digging, but without voices, it indeed resembled the actions of thieves disposing of bodies by night.

If they were just thieves, there wasn’t much to be afraid of, since the “entry requirements” for this “profession” weren’t high. A starving farmer could take up arms by night. If Eugene hadn’t met Charlie and his group, his life might well have led him to join a band of petty thieves. If they were dealing with that sort, the Duke, handsome and fierce in a fight, thought he could take on five single-handedly.

That said, creating complications wasn’t Dwight’s style. He considered quietly retreating before alerting them, but then noticed the rabbit-headed shopkeeper eagerly craning his neck forward, as if the digging and body-disposing were something worth observing.

What is wrong with this guy? Dwight thought irritably.

Sensing the Duke’s change in mood, Charlie turned around. The meager moonlight filtered through the branches seemed to fall into his large, round eyes.

“Look.” The shopkeeper’s voice was very low. Even so close, the Duke barely caught it.

They moved closer, peering carefully through the branches and bushes.

There were about two or three people, all in dark clothing. If not for a lantern hung on a half-dead hawthorn tree, even an owl would have trouble spotting them. At that moment, they had dug a shallow square pit from a small clearing among the trees, and a skinny figure began dragging something that looked like flour sacks from a donkey cart.

Charlie’s eyelids twitched involuntarily.

The shape and weight were clearly body bags.

One.

Two.

Three…

The lantern swayed in the night wind, causing the scent of blood to grow stronger in the air. Hunkering down behind the bushes, Charlie and Dwight watched their actions, their breathing growing heavy.

The number of bodies far exceeded the level of ordinary thieves. If not for the crude murmurs intermittently mixing with the night wind and the sleazy actions that even the night couldn’t hide, they might have thought they were witnessing a well-trained mercenary group.

But these men were almost within reach of Charlie and Dwight and still completely unaware, probably feeling that nothing but owls roamed the forest at night. They even began chatting as they filled the grave.

“So many again.”

“I need a strong drink when we get back, or I’ll have nightmares.”

“Come on, it’s not your first time…”

“Doesn’t make it any easier. What exactly is the master thinking, believing in that witch’s…”

Witch.

Dwight instinctively moved, glancing at Charlie, but the rabbit-headed shopkeeper was still staring at the group, seemingly unfazed by the content of the conversation.

His companion became anxious. “Shut up!”

He hissed lowly. “How dare you—”

The smaller man paused. “There’s no one else here right now.”

Another skinny man finished covering the last shovelfuls of earth. “I’ve heard she has many eyes and ears. Rats, trees, crows… They all listen to our words.”

“Stop talking,” the smaller man urged hurriedly. “I’m just scared. How many times have we been to this forest? And that old woman, where does she find so many—”

“We’re not allowed to talk about this,” the other man said, trying to keep the peace. “Load up your shovel. We’re heading back now.”

---

The author has something to say:

Actually, whether it’s “expelled” or regurgitated, it’s all washed in water anyway.

But it seems like everyone wanted to see it “expelled”. How naughty.

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Kinky Thoughts:

Uh… One way is less gross than the other.

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 37

Indeed, as Charlie had said, the Darby Belly Fish reacted very blandly to swallowing a few large living people—strictly speaking, it wasn’t “swallowing”. According to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, they were staying inside the fish’s mouth.

The space inside wasn’t as uncomfortable as everyone imagined. On the contrary, aside from the complete absence of light, there was nothing particularly uncomfortable. Perhaps this kind of fish had a unique ventilation system, as the space accommodating the passengers didn’t feel suffocating. The only oddity was the elastic sensation underfoot and along the walls.

This experience was very new for Duke Dwight and made him want to analyze the survival principles of this rare and exotic creature. As they entered the mouth of the fish, it seemed that the passengers themselves temporarily acquired the ability to change size, allowing them to follow the large fish through various rivers, streams, and even drainage outlets.

If all went well, the Darby Belly Fish would swim out of Syriacochi through the waterways and deposit them onshore at an appropriate location.

However, Dwight didn’t fully believe Charlie’s marketing spiel that the Darby Belly Fish was as docile as a sheep, content to be petted, and willing to carry humans. If such a rare creature, unseen even by him, were so naively simple, it wouldn’t have escaped human detection and survived to this day.

The tamer he spoke of must have taught him some trick, but the darkness provided perfect cover for the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, and Dwight couldn’t deduce what he had done before entering the water.

“It’s so dark.” Columbus broke the silence. Perhaps because his body was made of tin, he was more resilient than humans, so he was least reactive to the unfamiliar environment. “Charlie, are we moving?”

“Yes. The Darby Belly Fish is fast, but it decides the destination, so I’m not sure how far we’ll go,” the shopkeeper said gently.

Eugene took a deep breath. “This is really…”

He muttered something in a dialect that no one understood, but the tone suggested it was neither grateful nor complimentary.

Everyone but the shopkeeper could empathize with his feelings.

Honestly, although Charlie had assured them that the journey was absolutely safe, for heaven’s sake, they were in the mouth of a large fish—how could they know for sure that this unheard-of animal was herbivorous? What if it got hungry while swimming and realized it had a snack right in its mouth? That would truly be courting death.

Losing the concept of time and space could instinctively make one anxious. As time passed, even Shivers quietly regretted their hasty decision to embark on this venture. He thought they might have been better off with the flying contraption made of chairs. Although they would have no chance to struggle if something went wrong in mid-air, the current dark and quiet environment tested their mental and physical endurance even more. If it wasn’t his imagination, he might even hear the heartbeat of the large fish…

Years of tacit understanding allowed Dwight to sense, even without seeing, that his Knight Commander was a bit tense. The uncertain environment placed a significant burden on Shivers, who felt responsible for the Duke’s safety, though he wouldn’t readily show his unease like Eugene.

It was the first time Dwight “saw” Shivers so restrained. It seemed that completely enclosed and dark spaces could indeed have a significant impact on people, but personally, he felt okay.

Thinking this, Dwight suddenly paused.

He had just realized that, since stepping into the fish’s mouth, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had not let go of his hand. Perhaps because the darkness and silence had drawn most of his attention, the Duke, who generally disliked unnecessary physical contact, had overlooked this detail. When he finally did notice, Dwight thought he would shake the hand off, but for some reason, his body didn’t react.

Perhaps in this environment, he found that the joined hands provided a miraculous supporting strength. The touch of skin conveyed a convincing sense of ‘not being alone’, more compelling than eye contact or voice. It was similar to the sensation of trembling from trekking through snow and finally holding a steaming cup of hot cocoa in hand. Even without actually drinking it, the warmth in the palm alone could produce a strangely comforting and stabilizing effect.

“Tell me about,” Dwight began, “the tamer.”

“Ah, it was in an autumn.” Charlie immediately grasped the Duke’s intention and began to speak in the tone he used for storytelling to the children in Maplewood. “Mrs. Mickey from next door rang my doorbell, complaining about the cat of the neighborhood priest ruining her herb garden. She wanted some thyme and nettles from me. I always welcomed Mrs. Mickey’s visits because she is a lovely, enthusiastic woman who never comes empty-handed. That day was no different. She brought deliciously fragrant fruit rolls, her specialty, still steaming when she set them on my table—oh, they smelled so sweet. After taking her herbs, she mysteriously told me, ‘Charlie, I guess you’ll have a visitor soon. You can serve them light coffee with fruit pie.’”

“I said, ‘Thank you, Mrs. Mickey. I’ll brew some coffee. But how do you know I’ll have a visitor?’”

“She said, ‘Ah, because there’s a foreign man standing on the street corner for half the day.’”

“I said, ‘But, foreigners don’t necessarily come to see me.’”

“Mrs. Mickey smirked and said, ‘Mr. Charlie, he’s definitely here to see you. Because I saw him hiding a dragon in his arms.’”

Charlie paused here. Sure enough, Eugene couldn’t contain himself. “A dragon? How is that possible? Everyone knows they no longer exist!”

Charlie chuckled softly. His voice was pleasant, articulate, and melodic, with the brightness of youth but also the maturity of age—a combination that significantly reduced the oppressiveness of the enclosed, dark space. “Don’t jump to conclusions so quickly, Eugene. Anyway, Mrs. Mickey was right. That foreign man really did come to see me. For some reason, he walked into my shop just after dusk, before the streetlights were lit, wanting to make a deal with me.”

“He told me he was a descendant of a tamer from the lost ancient kingdom of [Malta], whose ancestors had served the Malta royal family, possessing the ability to communicate with various rare and exotic animals.”

Dwight immediately asked, “Malta… the Kingdom of Gold?”

Charlie looked in his direction—though all he saw was pitch black. “You really are well-informed,” the shopkeeper sincerely praised. “The tamer said he’d been wandering the continent of Pennigra for fifty years, and everyone called him a delusional madman because no one had ever heard of such a country.”

The Duke pursed his lips and said nothing.

“I’ve never seen this name in any history book or map either, but the tamer claimed that not only does this country truly exist, it also…”

“It produces gold, unimaginably rich,” a voice with a metallic tinge continued his words. “Trees bear gems, rivers flow with honey and milk, drinking vessels are made of pure silver, and the palace roofs are made of gold. On clear days, that brilliant golden light can reflect across to the other side of the sea.”

At this point, Dwight paused. “But that’s just a fairy tale for children.”

The precocious Duke also had a childhood. No child was born enjoying obscure poetry, complicated history, or advanced arithmetic. He couldn’t frolic everywhere with commoner children, nor could he leave the castle at will. Therefore, before he became Duke, Dwight once bribed a lower steward to smuggle many leisure books into the castle for his amusement. Those children’s books, although also screened by the steward to ensure there was nothing indecent that the future Duke shouldn’t see, contained many whimsical fairy tales that didn’t really have anything objectionable beyond their absurdity.

Thanks to his superior memory, the adult Duke vividly remembered how many childish and crazy things he had been obsessed with as a child.

The Kingdom of Gold of Malta was recorded in one of the books smuggled into the castle, in a chapter of a collection of stories cobbled together by a third-rate writer. Because the book was crudely made and somewhat disjointed, it certainly wasn’t a bestseller at the time, and it was unclear how it had passed the castle’s screening to reach his hands. But young Dwight, being under strict educational supervision at the time, would read anything that wasn’t part of his curriculum, even a dull cookbook, and it was for this reason that he immediately remembered the name Malta when he heard it years later.

“I believe legends and fairy tales have a basis in reality,” the shopkeeper said. “And I have seen with my own eyes, that guest really did have the ability to communicate with animals…”

“Charlie, you haven’t talked about his dragon yet,” Columbus said eagerly.

“Don’t rush. I’m getting there. He did indeed have a little creature in his arms, but it wasn’t a dragon. It was a magical salamander with the ability to locate gold mines. He showed me how he could communicate with animals and taught me some tricks to tame rare and exotic beasts as compensation, one of which was the Darby Belly Fish. This species is quite widespread, characterized by a curiosity about humans and no malice. If handled correctly, the chance of summoning them and getting a response is quite high.”

Shivers, captivated by his story, interjected to ask, “If the Kingdom of Gold really exists, on which continent would it be?”

The Knight Commander believed that, compared to strange animals, the legendary visions of landscapes filled with gold were much more captivating.

Charlie chuckled lightly. “It remains a legend because no one knows where this country is. Even the tamer himself has never seen his homeland, as his ancestors had traveled far from home long ago. If such a place truly exists, it’s either powerful enough to dominate a continent or doomed to be destroyed by war. Perhaps being a lost country is the most fitting fate for it. After gradually disappearing into the flow of history, even some Malta people and exotic beasts who had scattered early on could no longer trace their homeland’s whereabouts, thus becoming foreigners, never able to return home in their lifetimes.”

Everyone fell silent.

Dwight then asked, “So, what deal did you make with that tamer? He gave you nearly mythical information about rare beasts, so you must have given him something equivalent in return. I guess you must have helped him find his way back home.”

To tame exotic beasts, coming from a land rich with gems and gold, the things considered valuable by such a tamer probably included directions, maps, or navigation to the Kingdom of Gold.

In other words, did this rabbit-headed shopkeeper actually know the real whereabouts of the now-vanished Kingdom of Gold?

Eugene naively said, “That’s right.”

“…This is a trade secret, not worth discussing.” Charlie smoothly deflected, forcibly changing the topic. “Honestly, this was also my first attempt at summoning a Darby Belly Fish. I was skeptical of this little trick before this.”

I don’t believe you at all.

Except for Columbus, this thought simultaneously crossed the minds of everyone else present. From the time spent together, not only had the shopkeeper shown the typical merchant’s silver tongue and thick skin, but his words also required careful consideration and skepticism—not to be taken at face value—if they didn’t want to be completely taken in by him.

This much was clear not only to Dwight and Shivers, but even the slightly less intelligent Eugene could feel it, thanks to his inherent cunning and caution.

The real naive one was the little tin soldier, Columbus.

He always took the shopkeeper’s words at face value. “The first time? Then how are we supposed to get out, Charlie?”

“Ah, as long as it thinks—”

The shopkeeper’s words were cut off as the previously calm, dark space suddenly shook like an earthquake, violently enough that everyone lost control and fell, sitting into the mouth of the Belly Fish.

The Duke suddenly had a bad feeling. His face fell, because the last time he felt this way, he was inside a flying box!

“Since this is your first time summoning this thing, then you can’t guarantee how we’re going to leave its mouth, right?” Dwight said unceremoniously. “Is it about to spit us out?”

Eugene: “I have a possibly inappropriate guess…”

Although it was dark and their faces couldn’t be seen, everyone looked uneasy. Before anyone could stop Eugene, he blurted out his guess. “It’s not going to pass us from the back, right?”

Even though he switched to a slightly more elegant expression in time, what greeted him was still a deathly silence.

Seeing the bad turn of events, the shopkeeper hurriedly interjected, “No, no, not at all.”

Just as he finished speaking, the oxygen in the dark space seemed to be sucked out in a second. Everyone felt compressed as if dehydrated, and it was getting tighter and tighter…

Struggling to breathe in the darkness, the shopkeeper managed to utter—

“Uh-oh.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 36

Although Lady Holly and she had a bit of a falling out, the lady’s anger didn’t extend to Martina. Thus, Martina readily lent out her house and, considering the generous compensation, generously stated that they could freely use the things in her house.

“Seriously, how did you manage to offend Lady Holly?” Charlie, rolling up his sleeves, squatted on the ground to carefully inspect an old, long-handled umbrella.

Shivers coughed, and Eugene stood by, cackling strangely.

Simply put, Sir Knight had publicly cuckolded Lady Holly and was “accidentally” caught by her in the act. Usually, half of the high-society parties were a cover for affairs, so a fleeting romance in the candlelight or shadows of the garden wasn’t strange. That evening, there were quite a few ladies interested in Shivers, and Sir Knight unscrupulously used one of them, flirting intensely until Lady Holly discovered them, naturally leading to his awkward escape amidst the clash of the two women.

Lady Holly and Shivers hadn’t developed any deep feelings, and her anger focused more on the fact that someone dared to encroach on her territory. As for Shivers, the self-proclaimed “impoverished noble” who came knocking, she didn’t bother to pursue the matter for the time being.

Sir Knight didn’t think this kind of manipulative tactic was worth discussing, so he grabbed an uneven chair to change the subject. “Can this be used?”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at it and said, “Yes, get a few more.”

Dwight sat under the canopy Shivers had set up for him, leisurely watching as they, under Charlie’s direction, continuously dragged out all sorts of bizarre items from Martina’s house, which could be called a junkyard, and assembled them in even more bizarre ways.

Fortunately, the men were all quite nimble, and by evening, they had nearly finished the job.

“This will do.” Charlie tightened the last screw and stood up with a sense of accomplishment. He took a few steps back to admire his handiwork properly.

Five back chairs were lined up and tightly tied together. Two long-handled umbrellas were split into four pieces, keeping the ribs that supported the umbrella canopy attached to the sides of the chairs. A vintage wicker basket was nailed to the back of the front chair, holding a miner’s lamp, and the last chair had a short broom added ‘to maintain balance’—the shopkeeper said.

“What is this?” Dwight looked at the contraption they had assembled in the yard, struggling to find the right words to describe this heap of junk.

“This is a dragon-shaped aircraft.” Charlie was quite pleased with his work. “That flight box gave me the inspiration. With a bit of puppetry potion and a magic circle to calculate energy conversion, we can temporarily transfer the souls of nearby birds to this little guy. I’ve fitted it with a head, wings, a tail, and a body—it seats five.”

But the Duke’s attention wasn’t on the number of seats. “You call this thing a dragon?”

“Not a traditional dragon. I referred to a more ancient variety, more agile, faster, and with a very short presence in history. Many scholars believe they didn’t go extinct but migrated collectively to the far east. Their flying capabilities make seemingly unreachable distances possible…”

“I refuse.” The Duke cut off the shopkeeper bluntly. “I will not ride this thing, not for a second.”

“Why?” Charlie asked, baffled. “This is the best way out! When night falls, we fly a bit higher, high enough that the watchtowers can’t see us, and getting over the city walls will be a breeze. The puppetry potion might not be as good as that flight box, but I’m sure it can give us a safe distance!”

“Because it’s too ugly!” Dwight was also a bit astonished. “How could you think I would agree to sit on it?”

In Lemena, just letting his eyes see such a monstrosity would be enough to convict someone of insult!

Honestly, Dwight felt that Charlie’s mere thought of him riding this ugly “aircraft” was an offense in itself.

Charlie, uncharacteristically losing his composure, glared at the Duke for a while, then turned to look at Shivers, who was more sensible.

Shivers was in a difficult position. He actually thought Charlie’s idea was good, as flying was better than attempting to challenge the defense forces of Mokwen royal city. But out of loyalty and understanding of the Duke, he knew his master would absolutely resist anything he considered unattractive.

One should know, the Duke of Brandenburg was so particular that he even picked out the uniforms for the serfs on his estate—other nobles wouldn’t even glance at a slave twice, let alone care whether they were dressed in rags or naked, as long as they could work.

The Knight Commander couldn’t afford to insult Dwight’s dignity, but he also knew that the technical escape expertise was in the shopkeeper’s hands, and it was best not to offend him too harshly. Thus, he took the middle ground. “This thing… isn’t waterproof, right? What if it rains or snows tonight?”

At least the flight box had a cover. Though it was a bit stuffy, it had blankets and music inside. Asking a pampered Duke to sit on a hard back chair and fly for two hours in the cold wind, possibly getting soaked to the bone, was indeed asking too much.

Besides, it wouldn’t be good for Columbus to get rained on either, as he might rust.

Charlie paused and turned to look at his aircraft.

He knew that the comfort of something made in haste couldn’t be high, but what actually annoyed him was Dwight’s unequivocal dismissal of his aesthetic—how was this aircraft ugly? He thought its design was quite punk!

But since Shivers brought up a practical issue, he would reconsider, as the shopkeeper was a reasonable person.

Although the chances of rain or snow were half and half at this time of year, it was indeed possible. Adding a windbreak tent or something similar on top would greatly increase the drag during flight. Magic wasn’t Charlie’s strongest subject, and compared to a flight box that could cross countries overnight, his aircraft was merely using potions and magical conduction to temporarily transfer the souls of birds to the aircraft, not only with a time limit but also limited power, and any increase in drag would greatly impact the flight speed and altitude—this was why he chose materials that were structurally simple and lightweight during assembly.

While Charlie was in a quandary, Dwight frowned. “I remember you had another option.”

“Darkness” and “cold”—Dwight guessed this referred to the cold.

What about darkness?

If he could maintain basic dignity, the Duke felt he would choose darkness. After all, he wasn’t afraid of the dark, but he was allergic to ugliness.

The shopkeeper hesitated, his ears twitching reluctantly.

After all, the aircraft was already made. It would be a pity not to use it.

And…

“That method would be more costly,” the shopkeeper indicated.

Dwight, growing impatient, waved his hand, and the knight leaned in to whisper something in the shopkeeper’s ear.

The shopkeeper immediately beamed. “Then let’s don our cloaks and set off—Eugene, say goodbye to Martina for us. We really should thank her properly.”

As he spoke, the sky began to drizzle.

At this, Charlie completely gave up on the aircraft he had spent hours assembling. After all, the truly expensive potion hadn’t been used yet, and the pile of things was just Martina’s miscellaneous goods.

But Martina wasn’t home.

After lending them her house, she had gone out, and Eugene said she usually “worked” in a tavern in the lower city at night.

“Martina said just to lock the door. She won’t be coming back tonight.” Columbus also donned his mini cloak, beautifully crafted with a red base and blue trim, complete with stylish pockets—one of the winter items the skilled shopkeeper had made for him in Maplewood.

Eugene was surprised. “She told you that?”

Columbus, not understanding the implication, nodded. “She left when you guys were busy and told me before she went. She asked me to hide the key in the second brick crevice above the door frame.”

Eugene was somewhat disappointed. “I thought she liked me.” After all, Martina had been quite affectionate towards him lately.

Shivers said, “I think she really does like you.”

Eugene buttoned up his cloak all the way to his face, making his voice muffled. “That’s an illusion. Shouldn’t a woman cry and hug the man she loves when he leaves? At least leave a handkerchief or something?”

Shivers: “……”

Charlie, carrying a lantern, walked past him, shaking his head with a smile.

Columbus followed closely behind the shopkeeper. Having never been in love, he had nothing to add.

The Duke passed by with a reserved air, dropping a single word. “Childish.”

Eugene, inexplicably looked down upon, stood alone in the narrow yard, then suddenly turned to look back.

The two-story stone house, either carelessly built or eroded over the years, looked a bit tilted. The gray walls were sparsely covered with frost-resistant moss, and a pink, out-of-fashion women’s hat hung on the second-floor balcony.

When alone, Martina once proudly told him that at her most popular, she hadn’t splurged on jewelry, dresses, or perfumes like other women, nor had she schemed to marry a wealthy businessman. Instead, she immediately bought this house once she had saved enough money and planned to save again to open a small bakery. Unfortunately, as young women continuously flowed into the city’s various taverns, her business dwindled, and though it became tough later, she managed to sustain her livelihood.

At the time, Eugene only felt that Martina’s life planning was unexpectedly conventional, contrasting with her appearance, yet he didn’t know why she had shared this with him.

In fact, he still didn’t understand, only knowing that now that he was about to leave, he didn’t know why, but he turned back to look at this unremarkable stone house.

Charlie stood outside the door waiting for him, securing the loose number 24 on the door plate. He watched as Eugene came out and locked the door.

“Martina is a good woman,” the shopkeeper said.

Eugene grinned under his cloak.

“Yeah.” He hid the key in the brick crevice and picked up their luggage. Since they needed to travel light, they had left the livestock cart to Martina as extra compensation.

The Duke and the Knight Commander had already walked out of Fallen Leaves Lane, looking back impatiently at the three of them. Raindrops fell on his smooth waterproof cloak, rustling as they rolled off onto the ground, splashing up tiny sprays.

The shopkeeper quickened his steps, his old lantern creaking in his hand.

“What does ‘darkness’ mean, exactly?” the young Duke finally couldn’t help but ask.

It was already getting dark, and this old part of town had no streetlights. With the rain, the residents, already used to walking in corners, were rarely seen, and only their group hurriedly passed through the streets with lanterns, quickly disappearing into a narrow turn.

“Have you heard of the legend of the water monster?” Charlie led the way, his voice fragmented by the rain.

“Many places with abundant water sources have had rumors of water monsters, elusive and of immense size. Sometimes people encounter them, and just the part visible above the water’s surface is incredibly huge. Many people speculate that if a water monster appeared, it could effortlessly swallow a cow.”

The knowledgeable Duke clearly knew of these rumors. “Although there are many sightings, these creatures have never been successfully captured. In fact, their existence is still uncertain because—”

“Because they can’t be caught.” The shopkeeper’s voice was sly. “Water monster sightings aren’t limited to big rivers. They’ve been seen in large lakes as well. Once, someone extravagantly drained a lake to catch a water monster, but they caught nothing but ordinary fish.”

He seemed very familiar with Syriacochi, leading them through the town to a place that looked like an abandoned brick factory and found a drainage outlet nearby.

The shopkeeper set the lantern down on the steps beside the outlet, gently turned off the lantern, and the light instantly went out.

The nearby houses were enveloped in darkness. Their eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the dark, so they were unable to see anything. The only sound came from Charlie’s talking. “But saying they can’t be caught is incorrect. It’s just an excuse made by dull people to cover their failures. Actually, these water monsters are rare beasts, possessing a miraculous ability to shrink their bodies at will. Even if originally as big as a house, they could shrink to smaller than a frog, easily escaping whether through fishing nets or drainage outlets.”

No one knew what he did, but only Dwight and Shivers, with their keen ears, heard him pour something into the water channel. It sounded slightly different from the rain.

“I once hosted a guest who claimed to be a descendant of a tamer from an ancient country, who exchanged some interesting techniques with me as compensation…”

His voice trailed off, and everyone clearly heard something slowly moving along the water, then splashing to the surface.

“The mainland is unimaginably vast, and humans have explored only a small part. In places we can’t see, there are many rare birds and beasts. If handled correctly, they can unleash unexpected powers.”

Dwight’s eyes had gradually adapted to the darkness, but in the deep night, the water surface without any light reflection looked like a pool of black ink. He couldn’t even see what emerged from the water, but both he and Shivers felt no danger.

“Like this so-called water monster, the Darby Belly Fish, which can freely change its size, making it unstoppable in water, while also being able to carry more cargo than a horse-drawn carriage… including living beings. But it consumes a lot, so it requires a significant amount of food or an energy source to be driven.”

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper pulled back his hood and extended his hand to the Duke.

“Don’t worry, the Darby Belly Fish is as gentle as a sheep.”

After a brief silence, a hand touched Charlie’s palm, slightly cool to the touch.

No one could see, but the shopkeeper’s furry rabbit face bore a slight smile.

“Please watch your step, Your Grace.”

---

The author has something to say:

Scratching my head. The Duke is technically still not past adolescence and combined with the education he received and the early responsibilities of being a pillar of support, he is indeed more childish and selfish compared to Charlie, who is nearly ten years his senior.

Martina is very mature, and in the presence of the Duke and the Knight Commander, she has never wavered, but Eugene is silly.

One day, everyone will grow up.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 35

Christine and Lestrop’s past relationship indeed provided Tifa with a perfect reason to be wary of them, but Yitzfa also provided them with a more secretive detail.

“The woman who died was pregnant,” Shivers said gravely.

This was highly confidential, unknown even to members of the Mokwen Senate, but Tifa was definitely aware of it. Precisely for this reason, Shivers felt something was very suspicious, and he didn’t hesitate to offend Lady Holly in order to report this to Dwight immediately.

As expected, this caught Dwight’s attention right away.

“Interesting.” The Duke of Brandenburg chuckled lowly, though no one present would think he was genuinely pleased.

“What’s Tifa planning?” Dwight seemed to be asking Shivers, but it was more like he was pondering to himself.

It wasn’t strange for a King to have a mistress, nor for a mistress to be assassinated, and even for a mistress to be pregnant.

But it was very unusual for a prostitute mistress to be pregnant.

Even the most foolish monarch wouldn’t want an heir born to a woman of such low status. Under any circumstances, the legitimate children from the official wife were considered of the highest status, even if the wife was one’s enemy. If the wife was infertile, considering Tifa’s status, if he wanted a child, he should have chosen from among Mokwen’s noblewomen, not allowed a prostitute to carry the royal heir—no matter how deranged Tifa might be, the Senate would never approve, especially when Tifa thought his position on the throne was unstable. If he wanted to garner power support, he should have sought an alliance with a woman whose family power could rival Christine’s.

“Yitzfa said his information stops here,” Shivers responded. “But he didn’t deny the suggestion that Tifa had ulterior motives. I proposed increasing the price, but he refused.”

Whatever Tifa was actually doing, one thing was certain—and something all those in power do: he was trying to consolidate his kingship. The question is, what means was he planning to use? The dead woman’s identity had been confirmed, so a political marriage was impossible, and so was grooming an heir. While methods of consolidating power were often shady, secret midnight meetings, mysterious flying box, prostitutes and blood, and an aborted fetus—nearly every element leaned towards sinister black magic—Mokwen, a martial kingdom, was supposed to reject magic.

Yitzfa clearly knew more but chose to withhold it. Normally, as long as the price was right, the Fox family could sell any secret. But within the Black Gold Family’s hierarchical system, the sale of information also involved issues of access.

For someone at the bottom like Martina, five gold coins would get you Lady Holly’s secret predilections, but at the higher echelons like Yitzfa, rare elven plants could be exchanged for royal secrets unknown even to the Senate.

Therefore, if Yitzfa explicitly stated that even for a large sum he could no longer sell information, there was only one reason: at his level, he could reveal only so much, and any further inquiry would likely require someone above Yitzfa to answer their questions.

Yitzfa appearing in Mokwen was already a low-probability event. They couldn’t expect to meet another significant Fox family member in a short time.

What significant secret could Tifa possess that even the Fox family had to be cautious about? Keep in mind, this kingdom, neither vast in territory nor economy, couldn’t even compete in the first tier of empires.

Dwight sat back on the sofa, exhaling deeply. His worst-case scenario had been that Priscilla had contracted an incurable severe illness, but upon seeing his sister in robust health, he instead uncovered a conspiracy more unpredictable than any disease.

Was Lestrop at the center of the conspiracy? More importantly, where had he placed his own wife?

Charlie sat on the terrace, looking down. It was now fully daylight, and their hotel was at the junction of the residential and commercial districts. Many people were already out the door for the morning market. The calls of vendors and the smell of baking bread mingling together sounded unbelievably peaceful.

The bloody incident in the palace had nothing to do with them. The people were actually more concerned about whether the price of milk had gone up.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper had his high-quality top hat dusted spotless, probably because the hunt for the “beautiful elven woman” had naturally fizzled out due to the urgency of catching the murderer. This also allowed the naturally beautiful Duke to breathe a little easier—though he hardly went out, spending his days sitting in the room, brooding with a face full of woes, and then snapping at everyone.

Charlie had no doubts about Dwight’s capabilities. The Duke’s mind was actually more aggressive than his appearance, forcing Charlie to tread carefully and strategically throughout his journey. However, much like running in the rain, no matter how cautious, it was impossible to completely avoid the fine raindrops. No matter how fast one ran, raindrops inevitably would leave mottled traces on your hat.

The shopkeeper sighed, unable to even muster the energy to smoke.

The little tin soldier sat beside him, also looking down, imitating his example.

“Things are different here than in Maplewood. Everyone is always in a hurry.” Columbus clung to the fence, too short to do anything but squeeze his head between the bars, likely startling anyone who looked up from below.

Charlie remained silent.

The little tin soldier withdrew his head, looking at him worriedly.

“I really like Maplewood,” Columbus blurted out suddenly. “I wish I hadn’t come here.”

Charlie smiled faintly, reaching out to touch the little tin soldier’s hat. Although the weather was warming up, the morning dew still left his bright head damp.

“Don’t talk nonsense. This is your hometown,” Charlie said vaguely. “It’s not just because of you that I left Maplewood. Anyway… I had to come back.”

“No,” the little tin soldier said earnestly. “You and I are different. Your soul is whole.”

A whole soul… The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked down at his hands and sighed. “Who knows about such things?”

Even during the days they lived on 23 Paulownia Street, they rarely spoke seriously about this. Being far from the Doran continent allowed Columbus to lead a seemingly free life, but his soul continued to be eroded by an evil curse, his body becoming increasingly stiff.

The shopkeeper could keep replacing his tin body, but he couldn’t repair his soul. Even if the soul could be restored to new, Columbus would forever live as a tin soldier, watching those around him being taken away by the long years, left behind alone. Whether this was enough happiness for a once diligent, lively young man who loved sunshine and friends, Charlie never asked.

“Your soul is also whole,” Charlie said softly.

If not for Columbus’ miraculous ability to maintain his sanity under the curse, he couldn’t have taken him from that group of puppet-like tin soldiers.

Columbus didn’t contradict him. His melancholic expression was comical on his adorable tin soldier face. “But I’m gradually forgetting many things.”

“That’s probably because you’ve grown old.” Charlie laughed. “It’s the same for everyone who ages. Someone once told me that memory is the luggage of life, constantly accumulating from the moment of birth and gradually discarded as we grow old, until death.”

Columbus pondered. “I don’t want to forget everything. I hope that when I die, I can still remember you, my family’s wheat fields, and my sister. I have a sister, right?”

“Yes, your little Balda,” the shopkeeper said. “Elena’s domain isn’t far east of Mokwen. Before that, do you want to go back home to see if Balda is still there?”

It was an overly optimistic thought. A village as impoverished as theirs, losing more than half its labor force in one fell swoop due to offending a witch, would face catastrophic impacts, especially for families left with only women and children. Decades later, Columbus’s parents were likely gone, and if Balda hadn’t tragically died as an orphan, it was unlikely for a girl to remain living alone at home. She probably had left to marry.

After so many years apart, even Charlie’s magic for finding people would struggle to reunite Columbus with her.

Columbus understood this too.

“What about you, Charlie?” the little tin soldier asked him. “Will you see Elena?”

Although he didn’t know the reason, he knew Charlie didn’t mind continuing to live with a rabbit head.

The shopkeeper blinked. “You know, sometimes I feel like I was a rabbit in a past life.”

“Did I hear that wrong, or are you actually quite proud of this?”

A familiar tone of mockery rose behind them. Charlie and Columbus turned to see the Duke, who had appeared in the living room without their notice. He didn’t approach the balcony, instead frowning and avoiding the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Sleeplessness made his complexion even paler than usual, making him look like a sleep-deprived vampire.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said, tipping his hat to him.

“You’re discussing Elena,” Dwight said without moving forward.

“The curse on Columbus is growing stronger. We think it’s best to deal with it sooner rather than later,” Charlie said, noticing the Duke’s pale face and adding, “If you agree, that is.”

“Do you have a way out of the city?” Dwight asked, not responding immediately.

Before today, the magical flight box was undoubtedly a good way to freely enter and exit Syriacochi, avoiding guards and walls. But setting aside the method of operation, the device had lost its magic after crashing, and even bringing it back for repairs was futile.

Now the royal city was under martial law. All the nobles couldn’t return to their domains for the time being, and the city gates were tightly guarded. Among their group was a ‘beautiful elf who seemed to walk in the morning light’ (as described by Viscount William), a person with a rabbit’s head, and a talking, walking tin soldier toy—getting out of the city undetected would be miraculous.

“Of course, there’s a way. Shopkeeper Charlie can do anything,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said proudly.

“Ah, you’re right. I remember rabbits can dig holes,” the Duke said expressionlessly. “So, you’re planning to dig a tunnel under the wall to get out?”

Even the adaptable Duke felt this was too much.

Charlie sighed. “Of course not! Allow me to remind you, I am a graduate of Monterey Academy—”

“Top of your class, yes,” the Duke said. “So, you can make a flight box to take us out?”

“‘Us’? You’re leaving too?” Charlie was taken aback.

Dwight didn’t answer but glared at him with a “what nonsense are you talking about” look.

“Lady Priscilla is still in the city. I thought you would stay first,” the shopkeeper said honestly, thinking the Duke would stay to contend with the chaotic plots of the Mokwen royal family for his sister.

“Priscilla should be fine for now,” Dwight said tiredly. “She assured me that her health is fine.”

The situation in Syriacochi, and indeed the entire Kingdom of Mokwen, was unclear and not a place to linger. Priscilla also strongly demanded that he leave—not only out of concern for her brother but also because staying as a Duke in such a place of contention was indeed unwise.

Dwight’s mind was clear. Only if he was safe could he support Priscilla, no matter what she was facing now.

He didn’t plan to return to Pennigra immediately, but he also couldn’t recklessly put himself in danger, especially without an heir to inherit his name and power. This would be irresponsible to the Dwight family and all of Lemena.

After seeing Priscilla, Dwight’s purpose in sneaking into the Doran continent was temporarily concluded. Priscilla’s rose had withered to only one-third of its petals, still barely surviving, and the Duke needed to redefine his goals and plans.

“We can sign a new contract,” Dwight said, his light-colored pupils fixed on the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. “Our employment relationship won’t end until I return to Pennigra, and as for compensation, you can make two requests within my power.”

Charlie thought for a moment before speaking. “For me, compensation isn’t the priority, as you know. Columbus and I have things to do in Doran.”

“Our goals won’t conflict,” Dwight said calmly. He knew that the curse on Columbus and Charlie was the main reason the rabbit-headed shopkeeper came to Doran, and now they were likely to head straight for Elena, but that was fine.

After all, he still needed time to clarify some things… Before that, he had no fixed itinerary.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper looked at him, and the Duke met his gaze. They stared silently at each other for a while before the shopkeeper compromised.

“Then I might need to replan,” Charlie said honestly. “But before that, a little survey. Your Grace, which can you tolerate more, darkness or cold?”

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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 34

Eugene was nearly frozen to death.

People of their status as servants weren’t privileged enough to enter the nobles’ villas or take shelter in the masters’ carriages. They could only huddle in the corners of stables for warmth alongside the animals. But they had arrived too late, and the better spots were already taken by others. Not wanting to cause trouble, Eugene simply left the stable to stroll in the garden—it was uncertain whether Lady Holly would even let Shivers return to the carriage after the party anyway.

The conservatory, known as the Miracle of Winter Nights, was made of glass, a style that was quite popular in the elite castles of Pennigra and had begun to spread to Doran in recent years. The garden outside the conservatory wasn’t as warm as inside. Most of the flowers and plants were lifeless from the cold. Only the honeysuckle bushes used as decorative barriers retained some greenery.

Stomping his feet, Eugene walked past several clusters of bare rose bushes and was stretching his back when he looked up to see a pair of legs dangling not far ahead.

Eugene rubbed his eyes in confusion. “???”

He thought he was seeing things—a person was hanging from the second-floor outer wall. On closer inspection, it was clearly the Knight Commander, who should have been inside, making polite conversation beside the sofa.

Shivers was desperately clutching at the decorative carvings on the outer wall, trying to balance himself—he had forgotten that the nighttime dew made these stone walls ten times slicker than usual, and his outfit today was entirely unsuitable for climbing walls and jumping through windows.

“What are you doing?” Eugene approached close enough to ask in a lowered voice.

“Give me a hand,” Shivers said through gritted teeth. His luck wasn’t too bad. If Eugene had come five minutes later, he might have broken his ankle.

Fortunately, not many were wandering outside in the cold night. Otherwise, this situation would be hard to explain.

Thanks to the ladies’ extravagant tastes, which left the exterior walls unnecessarily covered with complex carvings, a few minutes later, Shivers finally landed safely on his target balcony.

He turned and waved down at Eugene to indicate he was alright.

Eugene gestured silently from below. “What—are—you—doing?”

Shivers gestured to his ears and then pointed inside. “The Fox—is—inside—”

The young man named Yitzfa was indeed very spoiled. He appeared in the conservatory for less than fifteen minutes and left, giving Shivers no chance to speak with him privately. Such a brief appearance was undoubtedly rude, but even Countess Donna could do nothing about him.

Thus, the Knight Commander decided to greet him in an unconventional way. Who knew that the dewy, mossy stone wall would nearly spoil his plans. He signaled Eugene to return to the carriage before turning to examine the balcony’s glass doors.

The lock was probably latched from the inside. With a curtain in between, the noise of picking the lock shouldn’t disturb anyone inside.

But just as Shivers placed his hand on the window frame, the curtains inside were suddenly pulled back with a “whooshed”, and a beautiful face unexpectedly met the Knight Commander’s astonished eyes.

Yitzfa was dressed in soft satin pajamas, with a long-haired white cat lying at his feet, staring unblinkingly at Shivers.

The Knight Commander wasn’t new to nocturnal escapades, but usually he climbed rose terraces, and the person waiting for him in the room was typically not a man with a smile that was both mocking and amused.

This made him a bit embarrassed.

However, Yitzfa himself seemed unconcerned, calmly opening the French doors to let the Knight Commander inside. The warm air made Shivers shiver.

“Your friend is still downstairs.” Yitzfa asked politely, “Would you like another cup of tea brewed? It’s very cold outside.”

Great, even Eugene had seen him.

The Knight Commander turned and signaled to Eugene, who was still waiting below, to go back and get warm.

Yitzfa stepped back onto the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed, as Shivers surveyed the femininely delicate bedroom and decided to get straight to the point.

“My name is Green, sent by my master to pay respects.” He took a square envelope from his pocket, sealed with dark green wax. The center was embossed with an ornate capital ‘D’.

A letter crest, proof of nobility, but without a border emblem—it didn’t belong to the royal family. Just a crest couldn’t fully reveal the sender’s identity, as families beginning with ‘D’ on the two old continents weren’t countless but indeed numerous. Unless absolutely necessary, one wouldn’t fully expose their identity and demands, a reticence typical of nobility.

Yitzfa seemed not at all surprised by Shivers’s act of climbing the balcony, likely because Martina had informed him through internal channels about Shivers, which was probably why he was unshaken by the presence of an illegal intruder.

Yet, he didn’t seem to care about Shivers’s identity or that of his master. He took the envelope, his gaze not lingering on the wax seal for more than a second, before quickly tearing it open.

The next moment, he raised an eyebrow and whistled softly.

“‘Healing fruit’, something only found in the elven forests.” Yitzfa looked at the small fruit that slid into his palm from the envelope, so light it seemed weightless. Even removed from its branch, the jewel-like red fruit, the size of a knuckle, didn’t dim. Its glossy surface revealed juicy flesh and its distinctive cross-shaped pattern at the base, making it instantly recognizable for its uniqueness.

“It can be taken directly or squeezed into a potion to heal any visible wound, but it is ineffective against magic and curses,” Shivers said. “Even if you searched all the pharmacies in Doran, you’d probably not find five such things. My master doesn’t like to haggle. He hopes this will prove our sincerity.”

To place such a rare and expensive item in an ordinary envelope as a reward was somewhat arrogant, but including Shivers, no one thought there was anything wrong with this attitude.

The Black Gold Families might be powerful, but the nobility who truly held power didn’t need to lower their stance towards them—not even if they needed to act discreetly now. The Duke’s pride was firm on this point.

Yitzfa put the healing fruit back in the envelope, kicked the drowsy white cat with his toe, and the cat reluctantly got up, twisting its plump backside towards the door.

“Donna will be back in at least half an hour,” Yitzfa said, his lips naturally curved upwards, giving him the appearance of always smiling. “So, what do you want to know?”

“The background of the woman who died in Tifa’s room, and the relationships among the main members of the Mokwen royal family.”

Yitzfa laughed. “I thought you were generous enough, but now I think you’re being quite stingy.”

Implying that a single elf-grown fruit wasn’t worth much.

Shivers smiled subtly. “The stakes can, of course, be increased.”

“Alright.” Yitzfa rolled his eyes as his fingers touched a bone china cup. “That woman was a prostitute, not a local—and not from the Fox family.” He met Shivers’s gaze and shrugged. “Don’t think that we manage all the women in the world.”

“Blonde, brown eyes, delicate skin. That’s the mark of a high-class prostitute, available only in royal cities or major trading metropolises. If she wasn’t from Syriacochi, then she must have come from a neighboring country or further away—no signs of living in Syriacochi, relying on magic or witchcraft to travel between places, but the spell caster was someone else.”

“Evidence?” Shivers asked.

Yitzfa blinked. “I guessed.”

Knight Commander: “……”

Shivers didn’t seem offended by his seemingly joking manner—actually, he was somewhat surprised. Yitzfa’s deductions were spot on. Apart from Tifa and the caster, probably only the Duke and his few men knew about the existence of that flying box. Yitzfa’s ability to deduce facts from scant clues was something Shivers had only seen in the Duke.

Seeing Shivers silent, Yitzfa chuckled. “Just kidding, the Fox family doesn’t deal with uncertain information. Our sources are confidential, but indeed, that woman appeared in the palace using some unsavory magic. Everyone blames Queen Christine as the murderer, but there’s no direct evidence, and the elders can’t convict her. And Tifa himself is well aware that his Queen isn’t a murderous fiend.”

“Tifa has many mistresses?” Shivers immediately caught the hidden information in Yitzfa’s words.

Yitzfa snapped his fingers. “To my knowledge, she’s the third.”

As he spoke, a flash of lightning unexpectedly streaked across the cold night sky, illuminating his beautiful, expressionless face.

“She’s not the first mistress of Tifa’s to be killed.” Dwight sat in an armchair, watching the sudden downpour fiercely beating against the windowpane, crackling loudly.

And the rabbit-headed shopkeeper watched Shivers with interest. “So, how did you get back?”

It was still dark outside, and he had assumed that, given Lady Holly’s style, Shivers wouldn’t be able to extricate himself for three or five days. He hadn’t expected the Knight Commander to be so efficient, cleanly cutting off his connection with the “sponsor” after meeting with the Fox.

Eugene laughed loudly. Shivers somewhat embarrassedly said, “Because I was in a hurry to come back, I used some methods… Lady Holly probably isn’t too pleased.”

Dwight didn’t care about their peachy encounters in the Countess’ mansion. He impatiently glared at Charlie, accusing him of straying off-topic.

Charlie coughed. “If Yitzfa’s information is accurate, then being ‘the King’s mistress’ is indeed a risky job in Mokwen. The question is, why?”

“The same thing happens not only in Mokwen,” the young Duke said coldly. “Her death wasn’t really news anymore.”

The word “news” unexpectedly struck a nerve in Charlie, reminding him of something.

Not long ago, in a small town near the border, by a blazing fireplace, the air still carried a hint of dessert after a meal. Everyone was exhausted after a long journey, drowsily listening to him read a newspaper that Columbus and Eugene had bought.

What did the newspaper say? A wealthy prostitute died somewhere. The paper spent considerable space detailing the beauty of this voluptuous, blonde woman, and her visitors were all captivated by her…

“Wilken,” Charlie murmured softly. “That day’s paper mentioned that a prostitute in Wilken died mysteriously in her own room.”

Shivers’s already stiff back straightened even more as he quickly calculated in his mind. “That’s not close to Syriacochi.”

“The strangeness of the news was that her maid had blown out the candle and closed the door for her, but the next morning she was found dead in her room,” Charlie said.

“Dead in the room, not on the bed.” Shivers pondered for a moment. “If using that flying box, crossing the continent overnight would be possible.”

“Even if Tifa himself isn’t the murderer, this matter can’t be unrelated to him. Any sane person’s reaction to finding a stranger suddenly in their bedroom would be shocked, not flirtation,” Shivers said. “According to Yitzfa, Tifa’s affairs and neglect of Christine only started after he became King. When he was still Prince Tifa, his focus was mostly on academia. He reportedly had talent in literature and painting and wasn’t very close to girls.”

“That kind of child doesn’t sound like the old King’s favorite,” Charlie mused thoughtfully.

Mokwen’s tradition of valuing martial prowess was well known. The former King spent his life fervently expanding the kingdom’s territories, and the heir he favored, though not necessarily the most like him, would at least be the bravest in battle.

Many knew that the King’s favored heir was his beloved fifth son, Ramore, and Christine was originally Ramore’s fiancée.

But compared to her fiancé, who was fully committed to the military, young Christine preferred the thoughtful and courteous third prince, Lestrop, with whom she had secret meetings for a while. Coincidentally, at that time, border conflicts erupted, and the old King and Prince Ramore died unexpectedly in war. With the support of Christine’s kingdom behind him, Lestrop could have replaced Ramore, but in the end, Christine married the somewhat marginalized seventh prince Tifa, and Tifa thus ascended the throne.

The Fox family’s ability to infiltrate was terrifying because such royal secrets were usually prohibited from discussion, not out of a desire to curb gossip, but because the informed could deduce much from these affairs. Yitzfa’s ability to casually sell this information to Shivers at least showed that Fox’s infiltration into Mokwen was deeper than they imagined.

“In many eyes, Tifa’s kingship isn’t legitimate. Lestrop’s existence poses a threat to him, so after ascending the throne, the still-young ninth prince, Baylor, was made a Duke, but Lestrop was only an Earl,” Dwight said gravely. “Although he married Christine, he doesn’t trust her.”

One his brother, the other his wife. For what reasons did Tifa so distrust these two?

In the distance, the sky gradually brightened with the foggy light of dawn, and the Duke of Brandenburg watched the break of day, his light-colored pupils colder than the ice of winter.

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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 33

“That’s not fair,” Eugene said. “Am I not handsome?”

Martina pressed her ample chest tightly against him as she held his arm and replied, “Dear, of course you’re handsome.”

“Then why do I have to be the coachman?” Eugene asked discontentedly.

He and Martina were standing at the back door of a mansion. A quarter of an hour earlier, Shivers, fully dressed up, was led inside by a plump woman, while he and Martina clearly didn’t even have the privilege to warm up by the kitchen stove, forced to wait behind the carriage instead.

Martina’s chest was mostly exposed to the night air, but she seemed not to feel the cold at all.

“Lady Holly prefers a more gentlemanly type of young man, ideally one with refined pronunciation, who can recite poetry to her in a singing tone.”

Gentleman? Eugene thought that was because she hadn’t seen Shivers beat up a wild wolf with his bare hands—the guy’s abs were more orderly than the loaves from a bakery… But he was just grumbling. Any noblewoman would be charmed by Shivers’s face, as if the Sun God himself had descended. Eugene wasn’t foolish enough to truly compete with Shivers over looks.

Martina was actually just securing an “interview” opportunity for Shivers, who was using the alias “Green”. However, the Knight Commander unquestionably passed the test, and within an hour, someone informed Eugene that he had secured the job of coachman for the evening.

Thanks to his employers and companions, all being high-society folks, this not-too-long, not-too-short journey had turned him into a half-professional coachman, newsboy, concierge, cook… And thanks to the fact that Duke was so wealthy, he spared no expense when conditions allowed. Otherwise, just a few months prior, figuring out how to open such a sophisticated carriage door could have taken him all night.

It took Shivers a while to come out and meet them from the back door. Martina could only accompany them this far, but she was still pleased to straighten Eugene’s collar, although from her expression, she might have preferred to offer that service to Shivers.

Lady Holly and her adopted daughter left from the front door, and Eugene could only drive the understated yet expensive carriage, following at a moderate distance behind them.

The destination of the party remained a secret until their arrival because the dinner was just a pretext. In reality, while the men gathered in the salon to smoke cigars, the women had their ways of finding amusement. This kind of party, dominated by noblewomen and kept discreet, also existed in Pennigra, but Shivers had never imagined he would also one day be brought as a “male companion” to such an event.

Mokwen was established as a cavalry nation, rising rapidly during wars by seizing several iron and rare metal mines, although modern times had completely abandoned their rugged and unrestrained nomadic lifestyle compared to other ancient royal and noble families on the continent that had settled for hundreds of years.

Their aesthetic approach to life was still in the stage of believing that expensive and shiny meant sophisticated—how did that saying go? “A nouveau riche who would even inlay their toilets with gold if they could.” This was the Duke of Brandenburg’s exact words, and it was also one of the reasons he wasn’t close to his brother-in-law.

Distrust was one reason. He also felt that this nouveau-riche temperament couldn’t be remedied within three generations. Only through his sister’s efforts, perhaps proper education of the next generation might redeem them a little—just a little.

Perhaps because of Mokwen’s rich yet not too sophisticated environment, both men and women in the country had an unusual pursuit of “artistic temperament”, which naturally reflected in their preferences for the opposite sex.

This preference had opened the door for Shivers, who came from the fertile plains. He had merely concocted a tale of a down-and-out noble from a small country traveling in Doran, who just happened to qualify as a novelist and musician. Lady Holly immediately gave him a chance, although she had almost decided to bring a “distant relative” to the event. Lady Holly had been “sponsoring” that lovely young painter for some time but considered this: there were plenty of musical instruments in a high-society salon to charm the guests, but a painter couldn’t produce a magnificent piece on the spot—even if they could, music sounded more romantic.

“‘Musician,'” Eugene muttered, turning to ask. “Do you play an instrument?”

The Knight Commander sat in the carriage with a discreet smile.

Eugene sensibly turned his head back. Nobles—especially those from wealthy regions like Lemena, whether in talent or that meticulously poor posture—weren’t something a kingdom like Mokwen could compare with. The Knight Commander ignored Eugene’s subtle jealousy. His focus was always on the core of the issue.

“It’s odd for a high-ranking member of the ‘Fox’ to appear at such an event,” Shivers said. “Miss Martina’s clearance isn’t enough to know which one has come to Mokwen. I have a feeling there’s some deceit involved.”

Although the Fox was a vast family, not everyone protected by this family was entitled to the Fox family name, including most middle and lower managers who could only say they belonged to the Fox but couldn’t claim the name. Even Eugene knew, only the direct blood relatives of the current family head were entitled to use that name—these individuals were the absolute rulers within this Black Gold Family, a principle that applied equally among the other Black Gold Families.

Thus, although the Fox family was renowned for their involvement in the trade of flesh and intelligence, nobody would be foolish enough to think that a person with the surname “Fox” needed to peddle flesh themselves to acquire anything. Below these apex members, there were plenty like ants—insignificant yet supporting the massive, heavy carriages moving forward, and Martina was among them.

According to the strict hierarchical system within the family, people like Martina might never have the privilege to see Cici with their own eyes. Therefore, if it was true as Martina said, with countless beauties under his command, a ‘Fox’ personally mixing into the kingdom’s circle of noblewomen as a male companion, the reasons behind it were worth scrutinizing.

Although his identity had changed, whether it was the party or the ladies, these were areas where the Knight Commander excelled, especially when he appropriately praised a lady who was clearly the center of the party with his “poetic language”.

Soon, many gathered around him like ants around sugar, each wanting to hear another sweet word from him. Lady Holly was pleased with this, first because the occasion was meant to show off wealth, and nothing pleased her more than the envious glances of other women. Second, no matter how many people took the opportunity to touch Green’s pectorals while chatting, he would still ride the carriage back to his own residence tonight, where she could request that he make up to her for the entire evening. Besides, this gentle lover, even surrounded by a whirlwind of powder, didn’t neglect her at all.

Shivers got Lady Holly a small piece of almond cake, naturally leading her away from the crowd to sit on a small sofa in a corner, where he politely and somewhat ruefully complained to her about the party being larger than he had anticipated. Although he tried his best to maintain manners, he soon couldn’t tell who was who, hoping he hadn’t embarrassed Lady Holly.

Lady Holly was delighted, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Everyone likes you. Even during the usual social season, it’s rare to gather so many people. I’m a bit confused myself—look at Lady Tomyles from the Tomyles family. Lord have mercy, I haven’t seen her in almost three years.”

Almost without needing much prompting from Shivers, Lady Holly began to chatter away, proving Martina’s connections to be very reliable. If anyone could be so familiar with the background gossip of Mokwen’s upper class and also be eager to talk, it was Lady Holly, who could even generally comment on the identities of the male companions brought by the ladies.

“That Countess…” Shivers skillfully steered her back to his line of thought. The Countess he mentioned was Donna, the only Countess of Mokwen and the hostess of tonight’s party. In a kingdom like Mokwen, which revered strength and was male-dominated, it was somewhat miraculous for Donna to have inherited a Countess title as a woman.

After all, most noble women’s status and titles were derived from their fathers or husbands. Plus, with her unique personal charm, Countess Donna held a high position in Mokwen’s circle of noblewomen.

She was over forty, unmarried and childless, said to be an arrangement with the royal family to ensure that the Countess’ honor would end with her. However, marriage and offspring might not be what she needed, as her esteemed social position and inexhaustible wealth were enough for her to squander a lifetime.

Such a gathering as tonight’s, described by those in the know as “debauched and unprecedented”, was also initiated by Countess Donna. But peculiarly, she had no companion by her side tonight.

Lady Holly, realizing what Shivers was asking, giggled. “Oh, maybe her cat hasn’t woken up yet?”

She heard on her first day back in the capital that Countess Donna had recently adopted a stunningly beautiful young man named Yitzfa, who apparently had a bit of a temper, so much so that even Countess Donna had to coddle him.

Shivers almost immediately confirmed that this Yitzfa was the Fox that Martina had mentioned. He hadn’t yet figured out how to approach Countess Donna subtly and reconfirm whether Yitzfa would attend tonight’s gathering when the ambiguous strings of the music suddenly slipped, as if someone had pulled the hand that was strumming the strings, causing the entire piece to stall momentarily.

But no one seemed to mind this. Facing the door, Lady Holly used her folding fan to partially cover her face, uttering a soft sigh. “Is that him? This is really…”

Her next words were lost in the fluffy feathers decorating her fan. Shivers turned his head and unsurprisingly saw a man entering the venue of tonight’s gathering—the warmly decorated conservatory arranged by Countess Donna, which she proudly considered a winter miracle.

She had lavishly expended a great deal of manpower and resources to maintain an appropriate temperature in this vast greenhouse year-round, planting various exotic and vibrant flowers. It was said that there were as many as fifteen gardeners solely dedicated to maintaining these delicate plants.

However, as beautiful as the flowers were, defying the rules of seasons with their riotous blooming, they seemed to dim somewhat the moment the man walked in. He was tall and slender. His skin was an ivory white rarely seen in Mokwen, more flawless than any of the women present, with features so finely crafted they seemed to be deliberated by a painter countless times, leaving no room for fault. His long eyelashes and straight nose gave him an androgynous look, somewhere between feminine and youthful, compelling one to pause at first glance.

Yet, what caught Shivers’s attention more were the man’s golden hair and large, round eyes. Although not completely similar, he had seen such features before on a boy who liked to wear dresses.

Shivers was probably the only one at the event not moved by the man’s appearance. In fact, he barely glanced before calmly placing the small porcelain plate with almond cake back on the table.

No mistake.

He was definitely the Fox he was looking for.

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