Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 32

“Things really are a bit strange, aren’t they?” Columbus sat on an armchair, his short legs happily kicking up. “That dead woman must have used that flying box to enter and exit the palace, but who was she? The King’s mistress?”

Shivers frowned. “If that’s the case, why be so secretive?” In most marriages, which were formed for benefit, the so-called “love” of married noble men was often bestowed upon other women. Honestly, most Kings had several well-known mistresses, and the Queens didn’t really care about such things.

“That woman probably isn’t just any mistress. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be that hypnotic music box in the box.” Shivers frowned. “I guess it was to conceal the destination of the flying box or Tifa’s identity.”

“It’s hard to deduce the identity of the deceased with the clues we have. We can start elsewhere,” Charlie said calmly. “After all, a box that can carry people isn’t something you see every day.”

“Who cares who the dead person was? As long as she wasn’t killed by Priscilla, I have no interest in her,” Dwight said arrogantly. “Compared to—”

He cared more about the name Priscilla had blurted out in that situation…

Ceylon.

But he stopped himself, pretending he had never said a word.

“I just think the more clues we know about at the moment, the better, since we are quite passive right now. Besides, I don’t think the events in the palace have nothing to do with Miss Priscilla,” Charlie said, seemingly oblivious to the Duke’s stern gaze. “As far as I know, Queen Christine had a sincere love affair with the Earl before she married the King, but now—”

Earl Lestrop’s wife was Priscilla.

Just this past alone, one could imagine a lot.

“What do you want to do?” Dwight asked unhappily.

“Gather as many facts as possible.” Charlie suddenly smiled. “If I may say so, My Lord has indeed attracted some fine talent.”

Columbus bounced excitedly in his chair. “You mean Eugene! Is he coming back?”

“Probably not yet.” Charlie thought for a moment, looking at the Knight Commander. “He might need a little extra help.”

Shivers: “?”

The city of Syriacochi in the Mokwen Kingdom was undoubtedly the most prosperous, but just as the shadow always clung under the light, the flip side of fragrance and beauty also bred decadence, poverty, and hunger. The lower classes naturally kept away from the city center, but they were also an essential part of the city, like a black spider quietly weaving its web of life and spreading it year by year. Occasionally, unsuspecting insects would fly into it and often have its life snuffed out before it could react.

Only creatures that shun the light could survive in such a place.

Low and dense houses squeezed the narrow paths so tightly that one could hardly breathe. The city’s drainage system seemed to fail here. Long-standing water caused floors and walls to grow patchy mold, and occasional unknown plants sprouted, mostly twisted and wilted.

The residents here seemed to dislike the sunlight. They were either draped haphazardly in scarves and cloaks or kept their heads very low. Shivers tightened his coat and squinted, trying to discern the house numbers that almost blended in with the filthy walls.

13…16…56… Definitely not right.

The paths here could drive one mad. He turned around restlessly, trying his luck at the other end, but nearly stepped on an old woman beside him—the hunched woman was half his height with sparse, spiky hair. She screamed and fell on him, grabbing his calf.

Shivers almost kicked her reflexively but immediately suppressed the impulse. He grabbed the old woman’s arm, trying to help her stand, but she clung to him like a poisonous vine, still harshly scolding in a language he couldn’t understand. The noise buzzed on the cold, damp stone walls, nearly piercing his eardrums.

The Knight Commander had never encountered such a woman before. The older women he dealt with were the noblewomen’s housekeepers, who, even if icy and mean, were at least polite and never so unreasonably noisy. His character also didn’t allow him to be rough with women, and as he was hesitating, something flew through the air and hit the old woman’s back.

It was a sturdy loaf of coarse bread, which rolled on the ground a couple of times. The old woman immediately released his arm and dove to pick it up. Shivers looked up just in time to see a man nearly clinging to the wall, sliding past the old woman. He grabbed Shivers and whispered sharply, “Let’s go!”

The alley was so narrow that two men walking side by side seemed cramped. Shivers was led through twists and turns, quickly leaving that alley.

“E—Eugene?”

The man in a local linen jacket looked back and winked at him.

“Don’t talk,” he said in a low voice.

The Knight Commander had no choice but to follow him hurriedly along the slippery cobblestone path deeper into the area, where the house numbers seemed to have no logic. They stopped next to a low stone wall covered with grapevines.

Shivers noticed a hint of black iron behind the grape leaves, pulled it aside, and sure enough, a wobbly house number hung there.

Fallen Leaf Lane.

24.

“This is—” Shivers looked at Eugene, who glanced around and gently pushed open the wooden door beside the wall, but only opened it a crack, barely enough for the two of them to squeeze through sideways.

“This door is too old. It makes noise when opened, creating too much disturbance,” Eugene explained. “In this godforsaken place, it’s best we don’t wake anyone up… or anything.”

“Where is this?” Shivers found himself standing in a surprisingly small courtyard, with a gloomy two-story stone house silently sitting in front of them.

“Let’s talk inside,” Eugene urged him.

Shivers watched as Eugene, like returning to his own home, opened the door and entered a living room not much bigger than a stable—there was no foyer, no fireplace, and every visible space was cluttered with things like umbrellas, pipes, men’s boots, and wicker travel trunks, all haphazardly piled against the walls, covered in dust and in disrepair.

“Martina’s house,” Eugene pulled over a somewhat wobbly willow chair for him to sit. “It was quite an effort to—”

“Who is Martina?” Shivers asked.

Martina was a prostitute.

In her youth, she had been quite glamorous—at that time, she could even afford to hire two maids to serve her, never getting up before three in the afternoon, with a carriage waiting at her door at five to take her to the theater. But the lavish lifestyle obviously didn’t last long. Otherwise, she wouldn’t now be living in a cold stone building on Fallen Leaf Lane, where even streetlights were absent.

However, Martina didn’t consider her life miserable. After all, most prostitutes in Syriacochi didn’t even have their own rooms, let alone their own houses.

“Eugene told me his friend was a handsome man. I thought he was deceiving me.” Martina came down the stairs, her eyes lighting up when she saw Shivers.

“I never lie,” Eugene said with a grin.

Martina rolled her eyes at him and brushed her hair back.

Shivers stood up and bent down to kiss the back of her hand.

Martina giggled uncontrollably, looking at him with affection.

“I’m Martina. Usually men come here for this name.” Her gaze traveled around the tall Knight Commander. “But you’re here for a ‘Fox’.”

Shivers glanced at Eugene and said nothing.

Eugene nodded. “We need to inquire about something, and the renowned information family on the continent is the best choice.”

Martina nodded. “The Fox family’s ‘web’ in the Doran continent isn’t very extensive, but it’s sufficient. You’re in luck. There’s a ‘Fox’ here in Syriacochi right now.”

Shivers immediately thought of the pretty child, Cici, they met in Pennigra. But it was unlikely. Cici was still a child, and Doran wasn’t a stronghold of the Fox family. The Black Gold family wouldn’t let such a young, important member stray far from their protection.

Thinking this, the Knight Commander sighed internally. If it were Cici, it would be easy. Dealing with an adult and astute ‘Fox’, the Duke might not know what price he’d have to pay to get satisfactory information.

“How can we meet them?” Eugene asked.

Martina looked at Shivers again, hesitating. “Maybe you don’t need to meet them. The Fox’s information classification system is very strict. You could first try finding the manager of Syriacochi. His decryption authority should suffice for most guests’ needs.”

“Our issue is a bit complex,” Shivers said gently.

“Alright.” If it were Eugene, Martina might have hesitated a bit longer, but Shivers’s innate noble demeanor and his gentle, yet firm attitude made her realize that haggling would only waste time.

“If you insist, then I know of a dinner happening soon. You might try there.” Martina compromised.

Eugene interjected, “There’s a dinner every night here in Syriacochi.” Nobles were always both the busiest and the idlest people. In Pennigra, there was a joke that if you put two nobles of different surnames together, the excuses for gatherings they came up with could fill a whole tablecloth. The royal city was the same. Although it wasn’t the social season, since they gathered for the King’s birthday, the large and small nobles wouldn’t be satisfied with just palace banquets. In fact, influential nobles might receive several invitations from different circles on the same day.

“We’re foreigners.” Shivers also raised a concern. “It might not be easy to blend into the local nobility circles.”

To enter any high-class social circle, having money and power were the most basic conditions, but most importantly, one needed a guide. Simply put, if the person introducing you had enough clout, even if you plucked a girl from a rural sheep pen and dressed her up as a politically persecuted princess from an obscure country for a few rounds, by the next year she might become a socialite sought after by young nobles—this was the theory, though due to superstitions about bloodlines and arrogance, no respectable noble would actually do this.

“Oh, no, this dinner is quite special.” Martina giggled again. “No invitation is needed. Just make sure this gentleman,” she looked straight at Shivers, “dresses up nicely.”

---

The author has something to say:

The Knight Commander is going to be busy.

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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 31

Before opening the door, Charlie had already mentally prepared himself, knowing that this matter might not be so easily dealt with.

Columbus tiptoed next to him, trying to peek into the room through the keyhole.

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at his comical appearance. He patted the little tin soldier on the head, and whispered, “Wait for me outside now. It’s okay.”

He was the master of 22 Paulownia Street. In his brief yet remarkable earlier life, he had faced countless more agonizing situations. What was it to face a capricious but honest (though he might be reluctant to admit it) nobleman? And a good-looking one at that.

The rabbit-headed manager withdrew his hand, grasped the brass doorknob, and opened the door in one go.

Despite being mentally prepared, he still sighed inwardly when he saw the Duke sitting in the center of the room, seemingly carelessly crossing his legs and idly playing with his cane.

The Duke looked hard to please.

Eugene and Shivers were nowhere to be seen; there was no one to buffer the situation.

Charlie walked into the room and gently closed the door behind him.

Dwight didn’t look up at him, his fingertips lightly grazing the emerald at the top of his cane. This action slightly distracted Charlie—even in a room that was not particularly bright, the color of the gem remained clear and verdant, not to mention its rare size and craftsmanship. It was a quality so unique that even the imperial treasury would struggle to find a second gem to match it—cool, elegant, unattainable.

Charlie looked away, took off his top hat, and bowed to the Duke. “I’ve heard about the incident at the palace, and I’m relieved to see you unharmed.”

The Duke stopped fidgeting with the gem, raised his eyes mockingly at Charlie, and said nothing.

The shopkeeper unbuttoned his coat and casually pulled over a birch wood high-backed chair, sitting opposite the Duke.

This seemed to further displease the Duke. He slightly raised his chin, his fingers sliding over the handle of his cane—a sword was hidden inside. Charlie raised his hands in surrender and said helplessly, “Alright, I admit I didn’t investigate enough beforehand…”

“Oh, I think you investigated quite thoroughly.” Dwight pressed down his anger. “So you knew this was an adventure with no return.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Charlie calmly said. “I didn’t know such an incident would happen in the King’s room, nor did I know that the palace would be put under martial law, exposing your whereabouts. The Mokwen dynasty has been declining since the death of the first king, Frederic I; the royal administration has long been as decayed as driftwood in a swamp, and the tight security is just for show. With the current rulers’ incompetence, getting in and out of the palace with the right map should be no problem for you and the Knight Commander.”

Dwight didn’t speak, just silently stared at Charlie’s furry rabbit face. A storm was brewing in his eyes, making them almost transparently shallow.

“I can’t undo the accidents that have happened, but I’ve done what I can to remedy them.” Charlie placed his hand on the armrest, leaning slightly forward. “I have reliable information that this time, Tifa and his Queen—”

He hadn’t finished speaking when the enraged Duke suddenly stood up, closing in on him with a speed that left no time to react. He planted his hands on either side of the birch chair, pushing the back of the chair sharply backwards. The chair legs immediately left the floor, forming a dangerous angle with the ground. They were so close they could feel each other’s breath.

“Who asked you that?” The Duke’s words seemed squeezed out of his throat one by one.

Trapped in the chair, the shopkeeper struggled to activate his brain. The Duke seemed not angry about the murder case that had caused him great trouble, so there must be something else infuriating him, but what? Pacifying him required a targeted approach, yet this guy’s temper was so fickle that any minor detail could upset this fastidious brat…

Meanwhile, the proximity of the other’s face momentarily distracted him, as from any angle the features were stunningly beautiful, especially when viewed up close, more impactful. Those who had seen the Duke of Brandenburg said he had a face nearly that of an angel or elf, but Charlie thought otherwise—such a face suited a demon better, because with such looks, any act seemed forgivable.

Though distracted only momentarily, it was enough to further infuriate Dwight, who then grabbed Charlie by the collar with such force it nearly lifted him out of the chair.

“Am I asking about Tifa?” Dwight asked word by word. “Where were you last night?”

Charlie was startled.

Last night, he was actually involved in that absurd flight for survival as well. If not for Columbus’ cooperation, the Duke could have personally verified this on the stone bridge at sunrise.

However, the shopkeeper wasn’t yet ready to reveal his unsavory little secret to the public. He seemed to have found the reason for Dwight’s great anger. Was the other party annoyed because he didn’t act together with them? Although the Duke was known to be capricious, he had always shown an attitude of “I am the best. All you riffraff stay out of my way”. 

It was absurd that now he seemed to be saying, “How could you not share life and death with us, you traitor.”

Moreover, the other party didn’t seem to realize how childish this action looked.

Realizing this, the shopkeeper almost laughed out loud, but he restrained himself in time.

“Um… you didn’t specify beforehand that this was a collective action.”

Dwight was taken aback, and when Charlie thought he would become furiously embarrassed, the Duke instead laughed it off.

“‘Specify’? Aren’t you always one to take matters into your own hands? I thought you considered any opinion insignificant. What, do you need guidance when it’s time to take risks?”

‘Great, blaming others is always the Duke’s style,’ Charlie thought expressionlessly.

“I am really, truly sorry.” The shopkeeper, always knowing his place, admitted. “It was my mistake.”

The apology came so straightforwardly that Dwight paused for a moment.

“Actually, I did try, but as you know, my appearance greatly limits my ability to infiltrate, and we are already close to the magical radiation area of Elena, so I must be cautious.”

Seeing the Duke’s expression soften slightly, he quickly added, “But I am indeed trying to make up for it. After dark, Eugene will bring back new news, and Miss Priscilla—you met her last night.”

Dwight wasn’t surprised by the declarative sentence.

Although royal news didn’t spread in the streets, news of the Queen involved in a murder case and a Countess being held hostage by criminals spread overnight among the high society, like early spring ice breaking on a stream’s surface. With the passing of time, the ripples would continue to expand the cracks. Intelligence was Charlie’s forte, and it wasn’t unusual for him to grasp the inside information so quickly. But speaking of which, the Duke’s previously relaxed hands tensed up again.

“Speaking of intelligence, I now have doubts about your competence,” Dwight said coldly. “About Priscilla.”

“Are you referring to Kurt’s prophecy? Which part made you think this way?” Charlie asked politely.

The Duke looked at him for a while longer, finally letting go of his collar and sitting back down.

“Priscilla looks fine,” he said. “I see none of the danger the astrologer predicted.”

Charlie blinked. “Some dangers cannot be seen with the eyes.”

Dwight’s expression darkened, and he remained silent.

“Even if you don’t believe Kurt, you should believe in that rose, right?” Charlie added.

Although he hadn’t seen the velvet box since leaving Pennigra, based on the last time, if the rose was really connected to Priscilla’s life, then the petals would have likely fallen off by now.

“You’re right. That’s also why I haven’t strangled you immediately,” Dwight said sarcastically.

He remembered every word that came out of the astrologer. “Her spirit is increasingly declining, and it can no longer support her thoughts”… It wasn’t vague, but depending on how it was interpreted, different understandings could indeed arise.

During their brief meeting, Priscilla didn’t show the sickness or languor Dwight expected. Although she was a bit thin, it wasn’t to the extent that it affected her health, and her mind was clear.

Compared to that, the astrologer’s words seemed almost alarmist. If not for the rose still declining, the Duke might almost conclude that the so-called astrologer was just a charlatan who had fooled him across continents.

The perceptive shopkeeper quickly figured out the Duke’s dilemma. He was certain that the other party thought the issue of not joining the royal adventure had passed, and his shoulders relaxed. He leisurely poured himself a cup of tea.

“Kurt’s astrology is never wrong,” the shopkeeper said quietly but firmly as he watched the steam rise from the cup. “But I think it’s unnecessary to narrowly interpret that Miss Priscilla has experienced some physical trauma or illness from the prophecy’s literal text. Perhaps we should focus more on her spirit. Spiritual decline can sometimes be more fatal than physical blows, especially for a sensitive woman.”

In other words, perhaps it was the rose that misled Dwight.

Dwight frowned. “Does that mean Priscilla is dissatisfied with her current life?”

Charlie said, “Perhaps she has discovered that the reality of life is different from what she imagined… But then again, the essence of life is hard to satisfy.”

Dwight scoffed. “She’s not that kind of person.”

If Priscilla was a capricious, freedom-loving noble lady who only wanted to do as she pleased, she wouldn’t have agreed to marry far away to Mokwen in the first place.

Dwight was willing to risk his safety to confirm his sister’s safety by sneaking into another continent, but he wouldn’t advise her to give up her marriage and even bring her back to Lemena. Even if he was willing, Priscilla wouldn’t accept such a proposal.

In the education the Dwight siblings received from childhood, dignity was sometimes indeed above all else. Although Priscilla was far from home, her marriage had to some extent solidified her family’s power, allowing Brandenburg to pass through turbulent times without danger, a result of multifaceted negotiations and entirely her own decision. Now her husband was noble and wealthy, she was a Countess with countless jewels and servants, with nothing in her life requiring her to bend.

In a world where small wars were constant and slaves and civilians lived day to day, this was an advantageous life most women couldn’t imagine, and any sane noble lady wouldn’t make an undignified complaint about her husband’s lack of consideration or coldness—nobility’s marriages were rarely for love, and not having unrealistic expectations of each other was the norm in current society.

Charlie didn’t continue speaking, fully understanding Dwight’s point. The sharp and complex edges of human nature were repeatedly polished until smooth and rigid in noble education, and while it seemed cold, this was the survival wisdom summed up by ancient families through turbulent times. He… had no say in such matters.

He looked at the handsome Duke sitting in the chair, his shoulders always erect like a textbook of etiquette, but at this moment, they seemed somewhat stiff. Sunlight passed through the gaps in the curtains, and the dust in the air slowly swirled in the slender beams of light. Charlie’s gaze gradually became somewhat lost.

Through the young Duke, he seemed to see many years ago, in a similar room covered with shaggy carpet, he and a little boy sat behind a desk, grimacing as they wrote endless poetry appreciations, while listening to the movements outside the door, immediately straightening their backs at the sound of heels clicking on the corridor floor.

Otherwise, the stern woman would scold them. “A gentleman never loses his composure! Only the lowly riffraff sits like that in chairs—”

The little boy across from him had a stern face, only exchanging a quick glance with him when the tutor turned away. Although silent, they always understood each other best.

The rabbit-headed shopkeeper retracted his gaze. The tea in his teacup had gradually cooled. He suddenly smiled, draining the cold tea in one gulp.

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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 30

Open your eyes, my beauty,

See the wildflowers in their blooming spree,

Hear the sweet songs the birdies all sing,

Tender grass blades, a fragrant spring fling.

Open your eyes, my love, don’t delay,

Gone is Winter’s cold grip, revival of day,

I’ll adorn your skirt with roses fair,

Weave your soft bed with herbs rare.

With the garden’s finest, I’ll composed,

A floral bouquet for your hair, enclosed.

In colors bright, where beauty showers,

Adorn your spirit with the loveliest flowers.

— “Lullaby, Chapter Five”

“Your leg—” Dwight said in a low, threatening voice.

“Please, the box is only so big. None of us are exactly delicate.” Oscar shifted awkwardly in the darkness.

“There’s always a way,” Shivers said in a pacifying tone, carefully pushing against the lid of the box.

“Can you turn that thing off?” The Duke was slightly annoyed. “Damn it, it’s jabbing me.”

There seemed to be a music box in one corner of the box. Its pleasant music filled the small, enclosed space—it was thanks to the sound of the music that they had confirmed the location of the secret chamber and squeezed in just before the lid automatically closed.

“It’s better not to,” Oscar said. “I think it might be part of the transport magic. Besides, the music is quite nice.”

Shivers said, “Transport magic… Does that mean something outside is moving this box?!”

Although no one could see his face in the dark, his tone said it all. The Knight Commander found this very absurd.

“Elves, eagles, or maybe the box itself can fly,” Dwight said wearily. “Rather than that, I’m more concerned about why there is such a thing in Tifa’s secret chamber. The first king of Mokwen was a cavalryman, long a warrior who despised magic, and there were no mages around Tifa.”

Clearly, the box was a magical creation.

Shivers coughed.

Oscar: “Oh.”

A sudden silence ensued, and in the darkness, the breathing of the three men became more noticeable.

“You two, spit it out,” the Duke said, slightly irritated.

“I guess it’s love magic,” Shivers suggested. “That woman who died mysteriously in the room… Wasn’t it said that no one had ever seen her in the palace?”

Tifa’s mistress was a mage?

It wasn’t a viable theory. Queen Christine wasn’t a robust woman. If the other party was a mage capable of creating a flying box, she wouldn’t have died silently at the hands of a noblewoman.

For a moment, no one spoke, and they couldn’t hear anything from outside in the box, but the slight movements made them feel that the box wasn’t in a stationary state.

“I still want to turn off that music box.” The Duke, who was the most prone to complaining, broke the silence again. “This soft music is making me sleepy.”

Oscar, who had already been dozing off, suddenly jolted awake at these words, and in the cramped space, his head collided with someone—

“Ouch!”

“What is wrong with you?!” Dwight cursed.

Oscar, too preoccupied to speak, strained to pull out his pocket watch.

“It’s been nine minutes since we entered this box.” Oscar squinted, feeling that despite the luminous material on the watch face, he was still having trouble seeing the numbers.

“So what?” Shivers’s voice was growing lower.

“Damn!” Dwight also suddenly thought of something, abruptly kicking the box, which dangled dangerously in the air.

“Hey!” Oscar was startled by his action.

“Turn—that—thing—off.” The Duke’s tone finally faltered. “It has a hypnotic effect.”

The Knight Commander immediately opened his eyes, feeling his eyelids were unusually heavy. He reached towards the source of the sound, quickly locating the pleasing sound of the piano even in the dark.

A wooden, small music box, smooth, without any engraved patterns.

Before Oscar could comment, a “snap” was heard.

The lid of the music box was forcefully closed, and the piano music stopped abruptly.

The box’s movement suddenly became erratic. Dwight raised his head, reaching out to feel the box walls.

Although he hadn’t thought much about turning off the music, Shivers suddenly thought of an inopportune question.

“If this is a flying box, are we now in mid-air?”

The rest of his question went unasked.

If the music from the music box was indeed controlling the flying box, could the box still fly after the music stopped?

Although he didn’t finish the question, the others in the box also immediately considered this, and their hearts sank.

The box again shook ominously, as if a giant outside was curiously flipping the box in his hands.

And then… for some reason, the giant decided to suddenly throw the box away.

Even though the box was lined with soft blankets, the three men felt that things were turning for the worse.

“Uh-oh,” Oscar said softly.

No sooner had he spoken than a terrifying sensation of weightlessness prevented him from saying another word—the box was plummeting rapidly! Even Dwight struggled to maintain his composure. If they were indeed falling from a great height, he might end up as the most embarrassingly deceased Dwight in history!

Shivers cried out, “My Lord—”

They fell so quickly that there wasn’t even time for Shivers to finish his sentence before a jolt made his head crash against the box wall.

Oscar’s cheek was grazed by something cold and hard, the stinging sensation snapping him out of his daze.

“…A soft landing?” he gasped.

Shivers was worthy of his title as a well-trained Knight Commander. He forced himself to recover his senses in the shortest time and then forcefully pushed open the lid of the box.

The box shook again, but this time Shivers saw clearly.

“Thank heavens.” He reached out to help Dwight up, letting the Duke see their current situation.

It seemed they were in a public spring, with a large stone-built pool and a narrow channel used by common women for washing clothes.

Oscar struggled to get up from the box, following Shivers and Dwight as they climbed out. It was still dark, but they could just make out the appearance of the large box.

Without magic, this box would look like any other wooden box, completely unremarkable, without even a hint of decoration.

The water in the pool barely reached their waists and was icy cold. Dwight initially wanted to head straight for the edge of the pool but, almost as if compelled, turned back to grab the wooden box.

Oscar also seemed interested in the box, reaching in to touch the blanket inside.

“Portillo’s high-quality cashmere blanket,” he commented with interest. “Hand-dyed, top-notch stuff.”

Dwight also felt around inside the box, tossing a small object to Shivers, who caught it and found it to be a small music box.

The Duke turned back to see Oscar pulling half of the blanket out, examining it closely as if trying to discern a pattern.

“Unless you’re a werewolf, you wouldn’t see any bloodstains in this light,” Dwight said coolly.

Oscar chuckled nervously and released the blanket. “I was just thinking—”

“Confirming whether that woman really died in Tifa’s room?”

Oscar shrugged.

“Gentlemen, this isn’t a good place for deductions,” the Knight Commander interjected. “We should still be within the royal city, and if we linger, we might encounter the night watch.”

Especially since so much had happened tonight, security in the royal city would be a prime topic of discussion at the council chambers for at least the next month.

His suggestion was sensible, and the three agreed, leaving the pool and quickly turning into an inconspicuous street.

“Where are we?” Oscar frowned, glancing up at the moon.

“North,” Shiver determined, recognizing the surrounding buildings. “If we keep going, we’ll leave the city, almost exactly opposite from the royal palace.”

“North is the trade district and a key area for checking foreigners,” Oscar quickly added. “West is the royal palace and the noble district, south is the military. Let’s head east.” East was the residential area, and conveniently, the inn they were staying at was in that direction.

Shiver couldn’t help but glance at Oscar.

After dawn, the sky was just beginning to brighten, and Oscar, with his golden-brown hair bouncing with his brisk steps, led the way. It was like the tips of grass dancing in the wind.

The Duke strode behind him, watching his figure. This man was well-built. Even in a cloak, it was apparent he was straight-shouldered, slim-waisted, and long-legged. Despite some anxiety, his steps were neither panicked nor sloppy, easily showing his good upbringing with almost no superfluous movements…

Almost.

Oscar wasn’t unaware of Dwight’s gaze on his back, which, frankly, was quite distracting at this time.

“What’s the rush?” The Duke quickened his pace to walk beside him through the deserted streets just before dawn. Mokwen’s royal city was built on a hill, and the terrain was uneven. Though there were no rivers, the city often used bridges to connect various elevations. If one wasn’t familiar with the routes, it was easy for outsiders to get lost among the intersecting roads and bridges. However, Oscar seemed to have no trouble navigating as he crossed a wide stone bridge leading to a quiet residential area, where beyond the dim streetlights at the corner, the end of the street was shrouded in impenetrable darkness.

The Duke noticed Oscar clutching the small golden pocket watch, glancing at it periodically as they walked.

“My time is short.” Oscar smiled and tucked the watch into his clothes. “A lot has happened tonight, and I’m a bit late.”

“Late?”

“To be honest, I had another appointment today.” Oscar quickened his pace nonchalantly. “But I didn’t expect so much to happen tonight…”

He had hardly finished speaking when he suddenly halted, stopping so abruptly that Dwight’s hand brushed his forearm in passing.

Oscar stepped back two paces, looking at him.

The temporary alliance formed under a common threat was fragile and insincere, and once the crisis was over, the caution and calculation between them resurfaced eagerly.

“Trying to run?” The Duke curled his lips, showing the first smile of the evening.

With his looks, his smile should have been quite captivating, but Oscar just shivered.

“I’m in a hurry.” Oscar conceded for once. “Maybe next time…”

Dwight glanced behind him, and Oscar didn’t need to look back to know that the tall Knight Commander had quietly blocked his path.

Loyalty was always paramount in a knight’s heart.

Oscar sighed, reaching into his pocket.

“Look,” he tried to negotiate with Dwight, “I haven’t done anything. We all escaped from the royal palace together. If not friends, then at least companions. Why suddenly turn hostile?”

“If you haven’t done anything, then what are you so nervous about?” Dwight, having failed in his sneak attack, seemed not inclined to further violence and crossed his arms leisurely. “You can explain slowly. I’m not in a hurry.”

…Good upbringing kept Oscar from uttering a curse.

“I need to leave.” His eyes, usually smiling, narrowed slightly. “My Lord, I can assure you I have no ill intentions towards you—”

“This matter has always been decided by me,” Dwight interrupted him, standing on the stone bridge with a bright morning star hanging behind him in the sky—a harbinger of the approaching dawn. The silent city was beginning to stir. Faint lights twinkled in the houses by the road, and in the distance, the sound of cartwheels rolling over small stones on the brick road could be heard.

Actually, Dwight wasn’t as confident as he appeared. He couldn’t forget that the greedy, foolish, and extremely lascivious Viscount was still eyeing his looks. In a sense, even if he was cleared of the palace drama, Dwight wasn’t exactly a free man in this royal city.

But for no reason, he wanted to trouble this man before him. He disliked the other’s careless yet effortless demeanor, as well as his habit of curling his lips in a smile that never truly reached his eyes, as if by doing so, no one could see through his hypocrisy and indifference.

All of this displeased him.

Oscar took a step back, leaning against the stone railing. He had far more experience with misfortune than the average person, often targeted by others, and it was easy to see that the Duke didn’t intend to maintain a superficial peace. Whether out of curiosity or suspicion, this arrogant nobleman wouldn’t rest until he had wrung out everything he wanted to know from him today.

Even without considering their physical disparity, being outnumbered two to one was a tricky situation.

“It seems you’re set on causing me discomfort,” Oscar said coldly.

Dwight nodded politely. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to oblige you.” Oscar smiled, then, with a swift move, he braced his hands on the railing and vaulted over it with a powerful kick, his body soaring over the barrier!

Dwight’s eyes widened as he watched him jump without hesitation. Even though the street was just below—if he landed headfirst…

Almost instantly, Shivers moved forward in a futile attempt to catch him, but soon straightened up and turned to look at his master.

Dwight quickly approached the railing, and that was when he saw it—a small flatbed cart appeared ghost-like from under the bridge, loaded with bundles of dry straw, providing a perfect landing spot for the leaping Oscar. The horse’s hooves seemed to be wrapped in cloth, making only a soft, muffled sound on the cobblestone road.

It seemed he was well-prepared.

Dwight couldn’t tell whether he should feel mocked or relieved. He turned around with a dark expression, facing his Knight Commander.

The handsome face was marked with an expression of utter disbelief.

“By the gods,” Shivers said, astounded. “Did you see that? There’s no coachman on that cart…”

How could the cart catch Oscar so precisely without a driver? Was it just a coincidence, or was the horse perhaps magically controlled?

Of course not.

This was a complete misunderstanding.

Oscar indeed practiced magic, but his skills were nowhere near that level.

What’s that old saying? The darkest hour is just before the dawn. The Knight Commander, deceived by the night, had failed to notice that the cart did indeed have a coachman.

“That was a close shave!” After the cart had traveled some distance, a small tin soldier standing on the footboard looked back. “But I knew we could do it! I knew what you were going to do the moment I saw you near the railing. We have a tacit understanding, right?”

Behind him, the straw was somewhat disheveled from the impact, and the person who had jumped from the bridge struggled a bit to free himself from the elaborate court robe he wore, his long fuzzy ears gently waving in the early morning breeze.

“You’re right.” He lay on the straw while magically producing a black top hat and placing it on his rabbit head, smiling at the little tin soldier. “Understanding is priceless, friendship is forever.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 29

Although the Mokwen royal palace was practically a semi-open venue for nobles to celebrate the King’s birthday, the Senate’s focus was initially on identifying the victim’s identity and the channels through which one could enter the palace.

But the paradox lay in the fact that unlike the banquet hall, the King’s bedroom, unless Tifa was inside, was usually left unattended, and roughly every hour, a maid would enter to tidy the bed, change the incense, and adjust the decorations. The King himself stated that there was no one in the room the last time he left it.

The deceased woman, though nobody could recall her name, could be identified by her freckles under her makeup and high cheekbones as not a native of Mokwen. Testimonies from ladies-in-waiting and guards also confirmed that no one had seen her before.

She seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in the King’s room, then handed a sharp dagger, which ended up in her own chest, to the furious Queen (who firmly denied this).

Priscilla wasn’t very concerned about Christine’s predicament. She was preoccupied with another thought.

If it weren’t for Dwight, would she have been the one confined to a room right now? This thought made her restless, and she knew she had to find a way to verify it.

So, risking suspicion, she didn’t return to her husband after leaving Christine’s room but instead took a detour.

“My Lady?!” A lady-in-waiting hurried out, almost bumping into Priscilla. “My Lady, please leave quickly. Intruders have been spotted in the palace, and the guards are on their way!”

Priscilla instinctively thought she meant Dwight. Her face turned pale as she grabbed the lady-in-waiting’s wrist. “What—what intruder?”

“They found an unidentified man. Please leave quickly… Ah!” The lady-in-waiting suddenly stumbled as a man ran out from behind her, his elbow nearly knocking her to the ground. Priscilla looked up just in time to see the man helping the lady-in-waiting to her feet, a bit of dark hair peeking out from under his cloak—it wasn’t her brother. Priscilla had barely caught her breath when she met the man’s eyes, which were narrow and curved subtly, like those of a half-closed-eye cat.

Priscilla gasped. “…Ceylon?!”

The man didn’t respond to the name she blurted out, but he stopped running when he saw her expression. His movement was so abrupt that the hood he was half-wearing finally slipped down, revealing copper-colored hair that shone exceptionally bright under the palace’s ornate wall lamps.

The guards chasing him caught up at that moment, with the leading soldier raising his sword. “Let go of those ladies! You—”

The soldier suddenly saw the man’s face and hesitated.

“…Oscar?!”

The man, known by his mother’s surname Green and formally the captain of the Brandenburg Knights of Lemena, was now dressed as a member of the Ninth Squadron of the Mokwen’s palace guards under the alias Tommy. He hadn’t expected to encounter a friend with whom he had shared drinks and fought a few thieves in a tavern on another continent. As he stood dumbfounded, other members of the guard squad also arrived.

“There! I saw them!”

“Stop!”

“Where are the archers?”

“Don’t use arrows! The Countess is with them—”

Before he could make sense of the situation, Shivers, bewilderingly, became the leader of the escape, followed by ‘hostage’ Countess Priscilla, with Oscar, wearing a woman’s cloak, bringing up the rear.

Strictly speaking, only Oscar was seen as suspicious by the pursuing guards.

Fortunately, though brief, Shivers’ time with the Ninth Squadron wasn’t wasted, and with Priscilla’s deliberate cooperation, by the time they met up with the hidden Dwight, they had temporarily eluded their pursuers.

“So,” the Duke slowly sized up Oscar, “now the entire palace’s attention is on you.”

Being a suspicious character illegally present in the palace during sensitive times and having ‘kidnapped’ the Countess was tantamount to confessing to the Senate “the murderer is me”.

“It’s ‘our’ attention that the entire palace is on now,” Oscar replied nonchalantly, seemingly unaffected by his sarcastic tone. “The main gates are definitely closed by now, and soon no one will be allowed out. If they carry out a thorough search within the palace, we’ll be found in no more than three days.”

Dwight frowned slightly.

Priscilla’s reaction was much more significant. She suddenly pulled off Oscar’s cloak, staring intently at him.

Even if the person was a beautifully groomed noblewoman, being stared at like this for an extended period would make any well-mannered young man uncomfortable. Oscar, unable to maintain eye contact, had to look away. “Uh… My Lady?”

Priscilla, oblivious, seemed almost to be searching for clues from his pores, and it took a long while before she withdrew her gaze.

“You probably mistook me for someone else,” Oscar said softly, subtly straightening the cloak that had been pulled askew.

Everyone could see the Countess’ disappointment, but now wasn’t the time to delve into it.

“In two more hours, it will be fully light,” Shiver said practically. “We’d better think of something quickly, especially since…” especially since Priscilla is here.

Regardless of the truth, as far as the palace was concerned, their identity as kidnappers was a fait accompli, unless Dwight revealed his true identity—but sneaking into a foreign royal palace as a Duke from another continent wasn’t much better than kidnapping a Countess.

Priscilla took a deep breath and glanced at Shivers and Oscar.

Shivers had practically grown up with these siblings, and though Priscilla had been married away for years, the understanding they had developed from childhood had never faded. He immediately understood the noble lady’s intention and pulled Oscar back a few steps to give them some space.

Though the space was very limited.

Dwight approached his sister. He was only thirteen when Priscilla was married. His features, inherited from their mother, made them look almost like siblings when standing together. Now meeting again after years, the still-growing Duke appeared somewhat frail—but conversely, his height had shot up like bamboo after rain, making it impossible for Priscilla to reach his head as she used to.

Dwight leaned down, allowing Priscilla to gently kiss his forehead.

Priscilla wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck, whispering almost inaudibly in his ear, “I’ll be fine. You need to find a way to escape as soon as possible. You must promise me, never leave Pennigra lightly again.”

Dwight hummed lowly. He actually had no way to safely leave the palace under lockdown and search, but he didn’t show his anxiety, at least not in front of Priscilla.

Priscilla didn’t look up but seemed to guess his thoughts.

“You will leave safely. That’s what matters most to me,” she whispered a few more words into her brother’s ear, after which the young Duke’s expression finally changed.

But the loss of control was only momentary. From Shivers and Oscar’s perspective, they could only see Dwight straightening up, holding Priscilla tightly—so tightly that within three breaths, the slender Countess had collapsed into his arms.

Dwight looked up; his expression now composed.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Shiver’s assessment of the situation was quite accurate. Mokwen was an ancient kingdom spanning over four generations. The royal palace, having undergone several renovations and expansions, resembled a large, old house with frequently used and well-maintained living quarters and kitchens, but also attics frequented only by rats and bugs. This time, the murder and the Countess’ abduction had occurred abruptly, and even with the urgent recruitment of personnel from outside the palace, organizing and deploying command took time—this interval was brief, so Dwight and Priscilla made a decisive move, taking advantage of the night to move quickly through the dark garden. Choosing an opportune moment, they allowed a squad to spot their trail before laying down the unconscious Priscilla.

The soldiers couldn’t directly touch the Countess, so they had to temporarily abandon the chase and call for a lady-in-waiting. All three were quite agile, and ultimately, without much danger, they managed to pry open a locked, decorative stained-glass window that was broken and re-entered Tifa’s bedchamber.

Though it’s said that the most dangerous places can be the safest, this time they undoubtedly walked into a dead end.

“No way,” Shivers leaned against the door, listening carefully. “There are too many guards outside.”

Dwight’s brow furrowed.

Barely sneaking into the bedchamber was their limit, and they were still some distance from Tifa’s own bedroom—by custom, this room wasn’t safe either, as guards could enter at any time for inspection.

Now, they were trapped, unable to move.

“You go out,” He nodded towards Oscar, who had been silent. “Lead the soldiers away.”

Shivers: “……”

His master always seemed to fall ill at the most opportune times.

Oscar turned his head. “Excuse me? Do I look like a fool? Why should I go out and die for you?”

The Duke scoffed. “Then why have you been following us all this way?”

Because the Countess only told you about the secret exit, and she spoke so softly, no matter how much you strain your ears, you can’t hear it—obviously, this brutal truth couldn’t be spoken now.

Oscar gave a nervous laugh. “We could think of something else.”

Dwight remained silent, and just when Oscar thought he was weighing the pros and cons, the Duke suddenly stepped forward and grabbed him by the throat forcefully.

Shivers’ eyelid twitched, but he made no move.

Actually, as Dwight advanced, Oscar had already reacted, even reaching out to block, but he hadn’t expected the lean young man to possess a brute strength completely at odds with his refined appearance. It was merely a grabbing motion, yet like a tiger released from its cage, it was an irresistible force that pinned down the antelope before him.

The Duke of Brandenburg often used arrogance and grandeur to mask his inherent brutality. Now, it seemed he was finally abandoning the noble principle that “a gentleman’s fiercest protest is silence”. He nearly folded Oscar in half, pressing him against an enamel and silver-inlaid circular table, the edges embedded with mother-of-pearl harshly hitting Oscar’s lower back.

“Rather than that, I want to know who you are.” Dwight’s voice was even, only the veins on the back of his hand revealing the force he exerted.

He didn’t believe Oscar’s appearance was accidental—maybe it was the first time they met, but such coincidences didn’t occur easily across continents. Shivers must have noticed something odd about Oscar, but given his good upbringing and Oscar’s past help, as long as this man didn’t show a hostile stance, Shivers wouldn’t treat him as an enemy.

But the Duke of Brandenburg didn’t think he needed such manners.

Oscar took a deep breath, then unexpectedly laughed.

“I’m a junior mage.” His voice was strained under the Duke’s grip, making it almost hard to hear. “I have a way out.”

Being a mage was an interesting profession. The effectiveness of magic depended entirely on talent. If the career ceiling for a junior mage was that of a firework technician at a traveling circus, an intermediate mage could already hold their own in a regular army.

The gap was that big.

A junior mage…

No anger showed on the Duke’s face. Given his status and position, even a senior mage wouldn’t necessarily have the privilege of speaking to him, let alone a junior mage comparable to a clown in status.

But in the current situation, even being able to cast a few minor illusions could indeed slightly solve their urgent problem.

The hand clutching his neck finally loosened, and Oscar’s face, which had turned red, quickly paled, instinctively gasping for air. His normally fair complexion turned an unhealthy shade of blue.

“I must leave here as soon as possible.” Even nearly being strangled didn’t provoke anger in Oscar. Instead, he negotiated rationally: “Take me with you, and I can divert the soldiers’ attention.”

As suspected, Tifa’s bedchamber was one of the main places under scrutiny. Guards patrolled back and forth along every corridor by squad, while others specifically checked every room, ensuring no potential hiding spot was overlooked.

With such thorough inspection, everyone believed the intruders would soon be caught—even if they could fly. The mages previously invited into the palace were already prepared to monitor the sky.

But no one expected the fire to start so silently.

Almost simultaneously, the commander received multiple reports of fires—dressing rooms, corridor carpets, floor-to-ceiling drapes… The flames seemed to erupt under everyone’s watch. By the time people scrambled to extinguish them, they realized how easily these numerous, small fires had completely divided their manpower.

The search net was unexpectedly burned through.

“What is that?” Only after they had finally dragged a few isolated guards into the room, changed into their uniforms, and sneaked into Tifa’s room with the rushing crowd, Shivers couldn’t help but ask.

“My masterpiece, a portable little fire chicken,” Oscar said proudly. “Fireproof eggshell. It won’t burn a hole in your pocket—just break the eggshell when needed, and the flame chick will run to wherever you want it to go. It can burn effectively for up to three minutes.”

The Knight Commander and the Duke of Brandenburg both looked at him.

Oscar still seemed pleased with himself. “It’s the perfect little helper for outdoor trips or home cooking.”

Shivers politely chimed in, “Sounds interesting.”

Oscar seemed suddenly energized. “Would you like to buy one? I have a few more.”

The Knight Commander coughed.

Because Dwight was looking at them both with a look of infinite disgust, as if he were looking at two humanoid slugs.

“Find the secret chamber,” he commanded succinctly.

“You don’t know where the secret chamber is?” Oscar retorted.

Dwight didn’t even deign to give him a glance.

Priscilla had told him that in the entire Mokwen royal palace, there was only one secret passage that could be used without surveillance, hidden in the King’s room.

But this was also the kingdom’s top secret, and the entrance was sure to be very well concealed, not even noticeable by the King’s closest confidants.

Oscar, who hadn’t panicked even when choked, finally showed a hint of anxiety. He pulled out a pocket watch, checked the time, and turned to them to announce, “We have five minutes.”

He said, “If we don’t find it within five minutes, it’s over.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed.

Shiver frowned. “Why? Will the passage close on a schedule?”

Oscar gave a dry laugh. “I’m not sure, but roughly.”

He knew the Duke was staring at him from behind and that every additional word he spoke only increased the suspicion Dwight held against him.

But he had no choice.

The fire chicken’s capability was limited. It couldn’t create a real conflagration. They were merely relying on quantity for a temporary advantage, and according to his calculations, the secret in Tifa’s room was indeed time-bound.

The King’s room was, of course, the epitome of luxury, and it was a bit of a stretch for three people to try to open all the drawers there within five minutes. Fine beads of sweat broke out on Oscar’s nose.

Four minutes.

“Nothing.” Shivers put down the last candlestick and began to feel the carpet with his hands.

Three minutes.

Oscar, frantic like an ant on a hot pan, started lifting every painting on the walls without any system.

Two minutes.

Dwight’s slender fingers brushed over the wallpaper by the bed, suddenly stopping.

“Stop,” the Duke said.

Shivers, who was lying against the wall, and Oscar, who was reaching for a wall painting, both turned to look at him.

“Shh.” The Duke of Brandenburg turned his face to the wall.

In the eerie silence, several intermittent, low syllables came from the other side of the wall.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 28

Conspiracy.

Other than this word, Dwight could think of no other way to describe the current chaotic situation. Who was behind the conspiracy? Priscilla, Tifa, Lestrop, or… himself, the Duke of Brandenburg, who shouldn’t have been here?

Priscilla said, “It’s different here than in Lemena.”

Though the pink roses were slowly withering, the sister standing before him still had a soft and beautiful face, and her skin and hair were as glossy as he remembered. Except occasionally revealing a faint melancholy and unease, her eyes looked at him with the usual concern and tenderness.

Was it really because she left Lemena that the roses were dying?

No matter what Priscilla’s life was like now, at least he had achieved his purpose for this visit, confirming her well-being with his own eyes. And he believed his sister wasn’t a mindless woman. She knew how to preserve herself amidst the complex interplay of power struggles.

Priscilla said, “You must leave immediately.”

Dwight suddenly reached up and rubbed his furrowed brow forcefully.

“You’re right,” he murmured to himself softly. “I should leave now.”

Priscilla sat in the room, trying hard not to let her maids notice her agitation. Since a murder had occurred, Lestrop had been busy, but he had invited a Viscountess to keep her company. Although Priscilla felt that the lady was like a cold water snake tightly coiling around her, making it hard for her to breathe, she couldn’t refuse her husband’s kindness.

Kindness…

She lowered her eyes, staring at a delicate ivory comb on the dressing table, lost in thought.

Her main concern now wasn’t this, but whether her brother had safely left the palace. With the suspected incident of the Queen killing the King’s mistress in his bedroom right before the King’s birthday, this was enough to make the nobles of neighboring countries secretly laugh for a whole year. Even just for the sake of appearance, Tifa would thoroughly investigate the murderer. If the city was under martial law, how would Dwight manage to leave the city? Although from another continent, the Duke of Brandenburg’s reputation was more widespread than everyone thought…

Priscilla unconsciously tightened her grip on the hem of her skirt, then quickly let go.

She and the Viscountess weren’t familiar, and she was too dispirited to feign interest, so she simply pretended to be unwell and wanted to go to bed early, hoping to send her away.

The Viscountess wanted to linger but was interrupted by a lady-in-waiting who rushed into the room. The lady-in-waiting dismissed all the maids before throwing herself at Priscilla’s knees. “My Lady, His Majesty and the Earl have started arguing, and it’s quite severe!”

Priscilla’s expression became serious, and she glanced at the Viscountess.

Even if clueless, matters concerning the King meant the Viscountess understood she could no longer stay, and she had to leave with a bow.

In theory, the King’s political dealings with the nobility and the Senate had nothing to do with the womenfolk, but between Tifa, Lestrop, and Priscilla, things were a bit delicate. Although they did not meet often, Tifa had always been particularly courteous to his sister-in-law, Lestrop’s wife Priscilla—this was politely put, but in reality, Tifa’s demeanor towards Priscilla had always seemed particularly indulgent, sometimes even showing a bit of excessive concern, which everyone had noticed since Priscilla first appeared as the Countess at court. But this wasn’t an inexplicable issue, as many older nobles said that in Priscilla’s gestures, there was much of Tifa’s older sister—former Princess Riley of the Mokwen Kingdom, who had died unexpectedly before she could marry and had been particularly close to Tifa.

This kind of behavior wasn’t even considered a royal secret, and Priscilla was quite restrained, never acting inappropriately despite the King’s favor; thus, the King’s unusual tenderness towards her was always maintained within reasonable limits. But now that this lady-in-waiting had come to summon her due to an argument between the King and her husband, whoever gave the order, the underlying implications were somewhat intriguing.

“That is your Queen.” Lestrop stood in the center of the room, staring at the seated King. “Insulting her will not bring you any benefits, Your Majesty.”

In the room, apart from the two brothers, there were no outsiders, and Tifa’s normally dignified expression had turned completely indifferent.

“You know that she is ‘my’ Queen,” the King said expressionlessly. “I decide where she stays, what she eats, what she wears, and who she sees. Why do you care so much?”

“I care about your reputation,” Lestrop said gravely. “Before the matter is clarified, you are treating your own wife as a murderer. If this is exploited by those with ulterior motives—”

A knock on the door interrupted the Earl. Turning around, he saw his wife walking in.

“Priscilla?” Lestrop frowned. “What are you doing here?”

The young Countess didn’t speak immediately.

“I called her here,” Tifa rotated the ring on his hand, “to remind you who the woman you should really care about is.”

The tall Earl’s face finally darkened.

“Brother, do you have some misunderstanding about me?” he said coldly.

Tifa chuckled lightly.

“What misunderstanding could I have about you?”

The two brothers stared at each other, like two regal lions in lazy poses, yet fully focused on their opponent, neither willing to look away first.

It was Priscilla who broke the escalating standoff.

“Your Majesty, the situation tonight is chaotic, and everyone is tired. Although I lack experience, I know that tired people can make irrational decisions,” she said softly. “The Queen has also been frightened. May I go see her? Even if I can’t offer much comfort, at least I want to tell her that Your Majesty and the lords are trying to prove her innocence and ask that she not worry.”

Lestrop raised an eyebrow, seemingly quite surprised she would say such a thing.

Tifa laughed again, although the smile stayed only on his lips, not reaching his eyes.

“Then, go and see Christine,” Tiffa said.

Priscilla glanced at her husband, then curtseyed and left the room.

Lestrop grimaced, but ultimately, he said nothing, leaving the room with Priscilla.

“Then I will go check on Her Majesty the Queen now,” Priscilla said, standing in the corridor. Despite the sudden events, her makeup and dress remained neat, her pink cheeks seemingly glowing under the corridor lights.

Lestrop was silent for a while before he said, “Don’t stay too long. The palace isn’t as safe as it seems.”

Priscilla nodded. Her light golden hair was styled into a beautiful braided bun; she was still young, and despite being married, she looked almost the same as the girl who had left her hometown alone years ago to marry into this far-off land.

Lestrop touched her cheek and watched as she disappeared from his sight.

Christine actually hadn’t received harsh treatment. In fact, as long as the Duchy of Lebis existed, Tifa couldn’t deal with Christine without going through the Duchy. She was well aware of this, so even though everyone accused her of being a witch who had murdered someone in her husband’s bedroom, Christine hadn’t lost her composure and dignity as the Queen.

She didn’t even show surprise at Priscilla’s arrival, nor did she attempt to plead her innocence to Priscilla.

“I have already explained everything to the King and the Senate. All that remains is to wait,” Christine said. “Thank you for coming to see me, Priscilla.”

Priscilla nodded. Both were nobly born and had received the finest education; even though they both knew that they held no affection for each other, they didn’t skimp on formalities.

“The Earl believes His Majesty’s decision was too hasty, and indeed, this small room does seem too confining for you,” Priscilla said softly. “I hope the true culprit is found soon.”

Christine looked at her, suddenly displaying an enigmatic smile.

“You’re really adorable, Priscilla,” she whispered, her words laden with ambiguous meaning. “No wonder he likes you so much.”

Priscilla’s expression remained unchanged, and she said gently, “His Majesty loves you very much. You are the only Queen of Mokwen, and although the situation is complicated, please don’t worry about this. Whoever orchestrated this conspiracy is bound to fail.”

The Queen looked at her silently. Christine was three years older than Priscilla but had no children, and Tifa having many mistresses was almost an open secret. As time passed, the Senate and the King’s dissatisfaction with her grew, and she didn’t think this matter would settle down quickly.

That person had forbidden everyone from contacting her at such a time yet had allowed Priscilla in… Was this a reminder or a warning?

Christine suddenly felt a deep weariness sweep over her, and the young Countess’ naive and delicate face even made her feel nauseated, igniting a desire to throw the cup in her hand without regard for decorum, to scream loudly, and order no one to enter the room, no one to speak to her—

“Your Majesty?” Priscilla asked, tilting her head in confusion, the light flickering in her eyes with her movement.

Christine snapped out of it.

“I’ll be alright,” Christine said. Although the Countess’ visit was of no help to her, she still patiently persuaded her to leave. However, as Priscilla was about to exit the room, she hesitated for a moment.

“Priscilla?” she called.

Priscilla turned back.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” The Queen stood there, looking somewhat haggard but with a straight back.

“Just a small favor. It won’t trouble anyone.”

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 27

From the moment she saw that rose, Priscilla understood.

Why her noble brother, who was supposed to be sitting in Brandenburg enjoying wealth and power, had appeared at the other end of this distant continent, sneaking into the palace without even a single guard by his side.

The life force of the pink roses in Brandenburg was fading. He was worried about her.

Priscilla took a deep breath.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I am in good health. The roses in the castle live and bloom for me. Since I have left Lemena, they will naturally wither over time, but that doesn’t mean I will as well. I have no complaints about my life now. You should return to Lemena immediately, or at least leave Doran.”

Dwight looked at her. The concern in Priscilla’s eyes was unmistakably genuine.

“It’s different here from Lemena. And from… Pennigra,” Priscilla whispered softly. “If I had known, I would never have agreed to this. Please leave before midnight, after the court ball ends, Duke Dwight.”

Her tone became almost stern by the end of her statement.

Dwight was about to speak when he suddenly stopped. Like a keen hound sensing danger, he quickly approached the door.

Two maids approached, carrying a large silver tray, seemingly preparing to make the bed for the King.

Dwight frowned slightly. Did they not know the Queen was still in the room? If the King and Queen were talking, how could servants just enter the room? Or was the Queen’s behavior not meant to be public?

Unaware of the eyes watching through the door crack, the two maids chatted softly about the drama at the ball tonight, placing the silver tray on the ground and pushing open the door of the large room at the end of the corridor.

“Ahhhhh—!”

Almost simultaneously, a piercing scream echoed through the night, startling Priscilla almost to the ground. Dwight steadied her, quickly scanning the room for another exit.

Nobles, especially kings, commonly built secret chambers and passages in castle palaces, but not always.

Even if there were secret passages in the room they were in, it would be difficult for a Duke visiting for the first time to find one so quickly.

“What happened?” Priscilla tried to approach the door but was stopped by Dwight. The two maids were still screaming, and footsteps were already sounding in the hallway.

“Something must have happened in the room.” Dwight quickly assessed Priscilla’s attire. “Don’t go out now. Wait until more people arrive, pretend to be alarmed, and blend into the crowd. Their attention will be on the room. They won’t notice you coming from next door.”

Priscilla was uncertain. “What about you? We’ll just hide here and wait…”

“No.” The young Duke had already quickly considered several possible scenarios and responses after the scream. “If it’s a violent incident, experienced military officers will immediately check the vicinity of the incident site. This room would be the first to be scrutinized.”

He was absolutely right.

The two screaming maids were pulled up from the ground as people from all directions gathered, and the spacious corridor was nearly impassable. Petite Priscilla managed to slip out unnoticed amid the chaos, blending in with several noblewomen who had come in response to the noise.

“What—what’s happening?” she asked.

The doorway to the King’s room was already crowded, making it nearly impossible to push through.

“The Queen! The Queen is dead!” someone at the front screamed in terror.

Before the crowd could react, another voice shouted, “The Queen is alive! There’s another woman—”

“Go find His Majesty!”

“His Majesty isn’t in the room?”

“Find His Majesty!”

The guards struggled to disperse the crowd. Priscilla, concerned for her brother, lingered reluctantly. A guard approached her, and she preemptively said, “I won’t leave until I am sure the King and my husband are safe. I won’t obstruct you, but you must tell me—”

Her words faltered as the Countess stared in astonishment at the tall guard before her. Under the distinctive helmet of a Mokwen palace guard was a sunny and handsome face she knew all too well.

Priscilla quickly stepped back. “I won’t push forward. I’ll just watch from afar. Is that okay?”

It seemed the Countess’ concession persuaded him, and the guard backed away.

Priscilla’s heart pounded as she watched the guard casually lean against the door where the Duke of Brandenburg was hiding, seizing the moment to slip inside. Soon after, two guards came out.

“There’s no one in the next room,” the tall guard told others. “Check the other rooms!”

Priscilla finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Mokwen Palace was lit all night—a sudden murder in the palace prompted King Tifa to summon Duke Baylor, Earl Lestrop, and the Senate to an emergency meeting in the middle of the night.

The council hall was heavily guarded, and no one outside knew what was happening inside.

Queen Christine was finally revived by doctors, but she vehemently denied any involvement with the woman who died in the King’s room, claiming she had been drugged and left there by someone unknown.

That was what she said.

His Majesty’s promiscuity was no secret; even before Queen Christine had joined Mokwen from the Duchy of Lebis, his infamous mistress had already publicly flaunted her relationship with the King, causing the Senate to worry that Mokwen might welcome its first courtesan queen, with even a hotheaded minister considering a death plea to advise King Tifa to banish the too passionate and openly promiscuous Lady Dulie, whose nude paintings had fetched astronomical prices.

However, despite his licentious personal life, King Tifa was quite astute in politics. He took over the marriage arrangements originally belonging to his elder brother, Lamore, after he fell from a carriage and was trampled under the chaotic hooves of warhorses, leaving not even a whole corpse behind.

The Duchy of Lebis wasn’t large in terms of land, but it was rich in minerals, and its natural barriers protected its wealth from prying eyes, making it a powerful ally of the Mokwen Kingdom. Tifa’s marriage to Christine was also one of the main reasons he took up the royal crown.

Such a Queen, regardless of Tifa’s real feelings for her, couldn’t be easily abandoned, given the strong position of the Duchy of Lebis.

“Even if she killed her husband’s mistress in the King’s room?” Shivers, dressed in a Mokwen Kingdom guard uniform, leaned against the wall in a rarely trafficked corner, still keeping an eye on the outside.

Dwight paused.

“The murderer… it’s not certain yet,” he said. “The truth is unclear now. If what everyone sees is the truth, then, as the Queen, she is fully entitled to deal with her husband’s improper relations. The only issue is the identity of the woman who died beside her.”

This statement might seem a bit cruel and unfair, but it was actually very objective.

If the dead woman was a noble, then if the Mokwen royal family wanted to protect Christine (which was very likely), they would need to make some compensation and concessions to the family behind that woman, even if just for appearances, and the Queen would face some punishment. But if the woman was a commoner or lower, her death would be in vain, and afterwards, people would only talk about how the Queen must have been driven mad with anger to have taken action herself.

“So, should we leave?” Shivers asked. “There’s no moon tonight. Most of the guards are concentrated around the King. If we want to escape, now is the best time.”

Regardless of who the real culprit was, it had nothing to do with them. The Duke had already achieved his goal of personally confirming Priscilla’s situation, so the best choice was to quickly leave the palace.

Because once the Queen was declared innocent and Tifa began to investigate the real culprit, the palace would surely be under martial law. They would be like stones among wheat; if anyone conducted a thorough check, they would eventually be exposed.

The Duke fell silent.

Actually, there were many things about this night that he couldn’t understand. For example, why Priscilla went alone to Tifa’s room—as a Countess, such behavior, if seen, could spark rumors of an affair by the next day. Setting aside Tifa and Priscilla’s relationship, Dwight didn’t think his sister hadn’t considered this. Moreover, if Priscilla hadn’t been stopped, would she have entered the room before Christine, and would the suspect confined in the room with the corpse have changed from the Queen to the Countess?

Priscilla and Christine’s simultaneous decisions to go to the scene alone—was it a coincidence, or were they… guided?

Dwight lowered his eyes, his long lashes hiding his murky emotions.

One more thing.

Charlie.

That crazy, secretive rabbit. The map he provided, after sampling and verification, largely matched the actual situation; it was a real map.

But the spot he marked for their meeting was no more than twenty steps away from the King’s room. This was also one of the reasons he was able to stop Priscilla from entering Tifa’s room.

As a group of suspicious figures secretly infiltrating the palace, who, in their right mind, would set a meeting point near the most critical area of the palace?

More importantly, Charlie himself didn’t show up.

Until now, neither Shivers nor he had seen a trace of that rabbit-headed shopkeeper.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 26

Clang!

An unexpected scraping sound interrupted the performance of the instrument. The lyrist sitting on the cushion screamed as her lyre was knocked to the ground. Her composed expression twisted as she jumped up in place, utterly lacking in decorum.

Whether on the dance floor or on the sofas, everyone’s attention was drawn to the corner of the disturbance, all bewildered. But soon, another scream erupted—from beneath the pile of exquisite cushions, two frantic rats emerged.

“Rats! How can there be rats?”

“Ah—my dress!”

“Tristina, don’t… oh!”

“My God! What just ran past?!”

The sudden appearance of the rats caused a flurry of screams wherever they went, for their speed was too much for the pampered nobles to avoid. In their panic, many even blocked the rats’ path, nearly dying of fright. Within minutes, a couple of frail ladies had fainted.

A mass panic began to spread uncontrollably—while it was understood that rats were pervasive, even infiltrating palace kitchens, the nobility attending a royal ball would likely never step foot in a kitchen, nor would they know the effort servants made daily to keep such unsightly creatures out of sight.

Ladies in opulent dresses hoisted their skirts, unconcerned about exposing their undergarments, all to furiously stomp and distance themselves from the center of the chaos. The hall’s bright lights also stressed the nocturnal rodents, who scurried aimlessly, occasionally scurrying over polished shoes, triggering even louder screams and roars—this was a time when gentlemen could have drawn their swords to combat the small beasts and rescue the terrified ladies, but this was a banquet, not an arena, and the decorative sheaths beneath their clothing were, in reality, empty of any actual blade.

Frantic servants rushed in with brooms, trying to catch the disruptive rats. Who knows how many times they had cleaned the hall! All the tablecloths and curtains were new; no place could be cleaner than here, yet these rats seemed to appear as if by magic.

As people shoved each other, the well-dressed ladies became quite disheveled—a tall count quickly stopped his wife from being pushed over by a clumsy servant and swiftly led her away from the dance floor. Her skirt was inexplicably stained with wine, the beautiful and dreamy sky blue satin spreading into a purple blotch.

“I’m going back to change clothes.” The Countess clutched to her husband, who was gently patting her chest.

“His Majesty won’t come tonight,” the Count said solemnly. “You don’t need to come back.”

“But…” She looked anxiously back towards the dance floor, where the guards had mostly driven out the rats and the crowd were settling down.

“It’s alright.” The Count gently gathered her loosened hair at her cheek and personally escorted her to the banquet hall door.

The Countess looked up at her husband with a sweet, innocent smile.

“I’ll wait for you.”

The Count smiled back. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be with His Majesty tonight. I’d rather my wife rest a bit more.”

The Countess nodded and left with the help of her maids.

From any angle, the Count was an exceptional husband.

Noble, wealthy, majestic, mature, attentive, and considerate.

In this setting, he even considered that dressing and undressing a noblewoman’s gown was very time-consuming, and having his wife rush back after changing would only waste time and energy.

One could hardly find any flaws in him.

Almost.

The Countess maintained her impeccable, gracious expression until the last second.

As soon as the maids had unlaced her corset, changed her into regular clothes, and left the room respectfully, the mask she had maintained all evening finally fell.

She waited quietly for ten minutes until there was no sound outside the door. Then, the young Countess, wearing soft-soled shoes, quietly opened the door and slipped into the corridor.

She wasn’t familiar with the layout of the palace, but her excellent memory allowed her to recall the floor plan she had seen just once. She hurried through the corridors as quickly and silently as possible, thankful that most people were focused on the evening’s festivities and many guards were redeployed there. Apart from a couple of passing maids, she encountered no obstacles.

Due to her high status, her accommodation in the palace wasn’t far from her destination. After dangerously avoiding two patrols of guards, she finally reached a broad corridor with a large room at the end. The door was closed and unguarded—suggesting it was unoccupied.

Her heart was pounding so hard it almost jumped out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths before approaching the door. Just as she reached out to grab the doorknob, a pair of hands suddenly emerged silently from behind, clamping over her mouth!

The Countess almost fainted from shock at that moment, completely forgetting to struggle, letting the person behind her half-carry and half-drag her into the room next to the large one on the left.

Who would dare abduct the Countess in the palace? Just as this thought flashed through her mind, she heard a woman’s voice from outside the door that wasn’t fully closed.

“Get out!”

Although she heard only two words, the Countess immediately recognized the speaker as the current Queen, Christine.

The Queen?

The Countess looked toward the unsecured door, thinking if she could signal somehow—

“Shh.” The man holding her seemed to sense her thoughts, lowering his head close to her ear.

The Countess’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s me, sister.”

The hand that had been tightly covering her mouth finally loosened, and the Countess trembled all over, hardly daring to turn around.

“How can this be…” she barely managed to utter, tears uncontrollably falling from her eyes, but she was utterly unaware of them.

The young Duke placed his hand on her slender shoulder and gently turned her around.

Though they had been apart for years, the young man’s eyes, inherited from their mother, remained exactly as they had appeared in her dreams. His excessively pale skin and undeniable beauty were unmatched by anyone she had seen since leaving her homeland.

The Countess’s eyelashes trembled. “How are you…”

“I was worried about you, Priscilla.” Dwight’s expression was far colder than his sister’s, but if Eugene and the others were present, they would be shocked by his uncharacteristically gentle tone.

“I…” the Countess began but was immediately cut off by her brother.

The Duke gestured for her to be aware of the outside.

He had intentionally not closed the room’s door completely, and now a thin crack made it easy for passersby to overlook.

They heard Queen Christine scold her maids, ordering them to leave, then she entered the corridor alone.

Priscilla approached the door crack, only catching a glimpse of a skirt flitting by before the Queen entered a large room at the end of the hallway.

“Is that Tifa’s room?” Dwight whispered.

Priscilla hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

The Duke didn’t ask why she had gone to the King’s room alone earlier, but the Countess knew her brother well—he didn’t need to voice his concerns for them to be pressing on his mind.

She should explain, but she hadn’t prepared a convincing excuse. In front of Duke Dwight, anything less than the stark truth would seem like a joke.

However, Dwight didn’t pressure her.

“I’m not here to dictate how you live your life,” the young Duke said. “I just wanted to see you.”

His words softened Priscilla’s heart, but years of etiquette training and sharp political instincts made her immediately conceal her vulnerability, lifting her chin slightly.

In a matter of seconds, she transformed from a lonely, married-away young woman, shocked to see a loved one, back into Priscilla, the reserved, self-controlled noblewoman who hid the grief of her parents’ deaths in her room.

“I didn’t hear you were coming,” she said, looking at Dwight and slowly frowning. “That shouldn’t be…”

Given Duke Dwight’s status, had he come through official channels, not just the royal palace of Mokwen but Priscilla herself should have been informed upon his entry into the continent of Doran.

Her ignorance meant only one thing.

“How did you get here?” Priscilla’s expression changed. “Where are the papers? The knights? What about Shivers?”

By the time she mentioned the last question, her voice had risen uncontrollably.

“I came privately,” the Duke admitted calmly.

“You? You! Whatever your reasons!” Priscilla’s chest heaved dramatically. “You are the head of the Dwight family! How can you disregard your own safety—”

“I’ve grown up, sister,” Dwight said patiently. “I’ll be fine.”

Priscilla glared at him, closing her mouth.

This was as angry as she ever appeared, always so gentle by nature.

Dwight continued, “I’m not here to see him. I came for this.”

He took out a black velvet box. Despite being away from soil and sunlight and after all this time, the rose inside hadn’t wilted, though it had deteriorated somewhat since the last time the rabbit-headed shopkeeper saw it.

The box’s magic, crafted by elves, kept the rose alive, closely linked to the distant lands of Lemena.

Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 25

Infiltrating the palace.

Actually, this task wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.

On any continent, the extravagant and vain behavior of the nobility was universal, which led them to employ many inexplicably large amounts of manpower and resources when they gathered.

Dwight had seen with his own eyes a noblewoman who wore a dress to a court ball that required four maids to drag its train—it was at least twenty feet long. Additionally, two other maids had to watch the people around her to prevent them from stepping on the lavish train as the lady turned.

Mokwen’s current king, Tifa, undoubtedly excelled in this pomp; he had people polish the palace ornaments and lay sod and trim hedges two months in advance. He also unnecessarily decorated the fig trees along the main street leading to the palace with colorful metalwork.

Of course, these magnificent decorations set in public places often mysteriously disappeared during the unguarded nights, forcing the officials in charge of external palace decor to exhaust themselves filling in the gaps. Even additional night guards proved ineffective—but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that from two months ago, all sorts of craftsmen and servants had been coming and going from the Mokwen palace. Even the best guards couldn’t possibly keep an eye on every unfamiliar face all the time.

They also disdained remembering the faces of common folk.

For anyone working in the palace, remembering the faces of nobility that one couldn’t afford to offend, under the right circumstances, was a demonstration of capability.

Clerk Lopez was one such capable person.

From a young age, his photographic memory made him stand out among his father’s numerous illegitimate children. Not only was he exceptionally recommended to the Senate as a junior recorder, but he also got many unexpected opportunities.

Like standing at the palace gate to welcome each noble who didn’t reside permanently in the capital during the king’s birthday celebrations.

Although it was a rather respectable job, standing at the palace gate to welcome nobles for several consecutive days was indeed exhausting.

Lopez tried not to think about his swollen, painful feet and made an effort to appear energetic as carriages drove through the gates.

“My Lord,” Lopez greeted as a servant laid down a footstool. “His Majesty the Wise said that his arms would return at the first light of dawn, and he sent me here—”

Perhaps his bow was too perfect. Before he could finish speaking, his glasses, which should have been securely on his nose, slid off suddenly and fell under the carriage.

Silence ensued. The ceremony officer standing guard with him, who was nearly blind, had no idea what had happened. Lopez froze, forgetting even to straighten up.

It felt like half a century passed before a gentle female voice said, “I haven’t seen glasses of that color before. Is it the latest fashion in the capital?”

Lopez snapped back to reality and quickly said, “Some craftsmen from the east came with a type of light tea-colored glass. They say it’s clearer than ordinary glasses.”

“Your eyes are beautiful. I wouldn’t want them to be obscured by anything,” came the voice from above Lopez, seemingly indifferent.

“I’m just asking. I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed in front of other ladies at the dinner…” As the woman spoke, she passed by Lopez and entered the palace gate with the count, followed by servants hurrying behind.

Lopez straightened up, knowing he had made a mistake. If the noble pursued the issue, he might end up building walls the next day.

But the young lady beside him, who had no need to, still spoke up for him.

What a gentle and understanding lady…

Lopez dared to look back but saw only the broad back of a tall man disappearing around the corner, accompanied by a swath of light golden hair.

With ten days until the king’s birthday, the arriving nobles had already lit up the great houses of the capital. Invitations to upper-class social dinners were being distributed relentlessly to all influential nobles, and madams and ladies were painstakingly preparing their gowns and jewels. Gentlemen were discreetly exchanging various pieces of information and rumors. Daily gossip filled all pages of the tabloids… It was as if the social season had arrived early.

But not everyone was enthusiastic about this.

“My Lady, you don’t look very well.” A lady with a very low-cut neckline, which fully displayed a complex and beautiful opal necklace, looked concernedly at the woman beside her. “Is it too stuffy here?”

The woman, who had been absentmindedly staring at the candlelight on the table, came to her senses and smiled, shaking her head. “It’s a bit colder here than in the south, but I’m not so delicate. I just saw the branches of the laurel tree outside moving. The wind tonight is quite strong.”

A few exquisitely made-up women were silent for a moment, then all chuckled in unison, as if they were in a perfume-filled henhouse.

“I don’t think it’s the wind, but someone trying to check their petticoat under the cover of the laurel.” A woman with a high hair bun casually stroked the lace on her skirt. “As far as I know, half the men in the royal city are at Viscount Mori’s tonight, so who could be outside?”

“Oh dear. I wouldn’t know, but I did notice a handsome coachman earlier…” someone teased, dragging out the tone, but only got halfway through.

Half a sentence was enough. Whether it was ‘handsome’ or ‘coachman’ that hit these ladies’ funny bone, they all burst into laughter again.

The garden of the banquet had always been a traditionally agreed place for secret affairs. After the laughter, the topic quickly turned to news of several mages entering the palace.

“It’s not entirely mages. At least three young men are apprentices.” A lady who lived in the capital lowered her voice. “And I heard… they didn’t come for His Majesty’s birthday celebration.”

Her dramatically lowered voice indeed caught the attention of those around her, bringing the gossip circle closer together.

“Strange things have been happening in the palace,” the lady said, covering half her face with her fan. “His Majesty is using the excuse of his birthday to have some mages investigate thoroughly.”

“Lady Mary, what kind of strange things could be happening in the palace?” the lady revealing much of her chest asked dismissively.

Lady Mary lifted her fan slightly. “There are rumors that the king has a new mistress.”

The atmosphere suddenly cooled.

Amid the music and laughter, the sudden silence in their little corner went unnoticed by others.

The young lady, who had been daydreaming, softly spoke up. “Her Majesty the Queen’s beauty makes even the stars in the sky shy away from shining. I believe there must be some misunderstanding.”

Everyone knew this was just polite flattery. There was only one queen, but the king’s number of mistresses had always been limitless. If anything, several of those in this cozy sofa group by the wall had had their flirtations with the king—hardly novel gossip.

The lady’s aim was merely to break the silence, and her bright eyes turned to Lady Mary, clearly waiting for her to continue.

Lady Mary seemed slightly annoyed by the lack of encouragement, but if she were wise, she wouldn’t discuss the king’s private matters openly at such a gathering.

Still, she couldn’t help but retort, “I am a cousin of Her Majesty. Would I speak without confirmation? It’s normal to have one or two mistresses, but what’s odd is that no one knows where these women come from—His Majesty’s bedroom often has unfamiliar long hairs and different scents of perfume, yet even the servants who sleep by the king’s bedroom door haven’t noticed anyone who could have been with the king. Even though there are guards in every corridor at night, no one has seen anyone enter the king’s room. Yet, during the quiet of the night, sounds of playful joy can be heard.”

“The queen has investigated all the maids in the palace, but to no avail. There are no outsiders entering the palace, yet unusual traces are often found in the king’s bedroom. It’s almost like…”

It was almost as if an invisible specter, taking the form of a seductive woman, slipped through the king’s window in the moonlight, disappearing at the first light of dawn.

Royal affairs of the heart could only be discussed ambiguously in dimly lit salon corners. Thanks to the strong-willed Lady Mary, a little prodding was all it took for her to unwittingly provide more details.

For instance, the king’s bedroom actually had a secret compartment behind the bed, covered with light green wallpaper painted with ivy in gold paint. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but a careful touch could reveal the subtle texture that was the switch for the secret compartment. Those emerging from it could easily lift the king’s bed curtains.

Another detail was that the compartment was only the size of a standard closet, the only piece of furniture being a handmade cashmere carpet from Minicia—ensuring silence when walked upon. Another exit led to a hidden staircase, known to no more than three people in the entire palace…

Although the entire palace was decked out in festive decor, the old and quiet tower on the west side of the palace remained grim and dilapidated even after its moss was scrubbed away and new candles were placed. She ascended the slightly damp steps, fine moss, as delicate as down feathers, stubbornly emerging from the square stone wall cracks, seeming to glow green in the dim air.

The area was deserted, silent as the earth before dawn. She couldn’t hear her own footsteps, but her heart throbbed relentlessly, stimulating her brain.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight… She counted her steps carefully, making sure not to sway the lantern in her hand. Noblewomen surrounded by jeweled satin rarely had to walk or climb like this, and before long, she felt her corset squeezing her organs. She paused to let a wave of dizziness pass and rested briefly before continuing upwards.

One hundred and sixty-four.

A turning point appeared on the stone steps, along with an undecorated pine door.

She stopped and listened intently for a while, but silence prevailed. She then pushed open the pine door, and a wave of warm air and fragrance from inside briefly relaxed her tense facial expression.

Behind the pine door indeed lay a small room, and there truly lay a large Minicia handmade carpet, luxurious in pattern and color, a rarity even in the empire.

The only difference from the rumors was that besides the carpet, there was a wooden box in the room, beautifully carved but unlocked.

She set the lantern on the floor and gently touched the box, barely exerting force when the lid lifted slightly.

A low, melodious sound of a Soltrey lyre flowed from within.

---

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

Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

---

Chapter 24

The situation started that night two days ago, which was why Eugene, still haunted by what happened, was instinctively drawn to the content loudly read by the newsboy on the street.

“The shopkeeper wanted to avoid going out during the day and asked me to gather information after sunset, but two days ago, I encountered something he hoped to understand from another angle. So I rushed to get the first batch of newspapers printed this morning…” Eugene held the tea cup with both hands, the tea inside already cold.

Finally, surrendering his dignity, Dwight left his room and sat on the only armchair in the room, legs crossed with an air of authority. “‘That incident’?”

Shivers handed the freshly ironed newspaper to the Duke, who skimmed it quickly, throwing it aside afterward, and looked expectantly at Eugene, signaling him to continue.

Eugene took a deep breath.

“I saw it,” he said. “I saw the process of the woman’s death that was written about in the newspaper.”

Strictly speaking, he didn’t “see” it fully, but he was involved to some extent in the murder case that had spread throughout the streets and alleys.

At the time, Eugene had left the small tavern in the chill of midnight, chasing after the kid who stole his wallet, completely unprepared to stumble upon a murder in the dark alley infested with vermin.

When it happened, Eugene and the kid were in a delicate position, close enough to almost hear the murderers’ vague conversations, yet hidden from their view, even in the light of their lanterns, where Eugene could see their shadows cast on the wall across from him.

The pickpocket, thinking himself worldly, was just a naive kid who nearly bolted out upon smelling a hint of blood, thinking his dog was harmed. So Eugene had to firmly grasp him—he had spent most of his life dealing with schemes and dangers, and the reason he could still sit and drink tea unharmed was his acute sense of crisis, which was better than anyone else’s.

Almost instantly, he realized the sticky stench in the air couldn’t possibly come from a dog. If the smell was this horrifying, the victim was undoubtedly human and beyond saving.

His judgment proved correct. The nauseating smell of blood grew thicker by the minute, as if solidifying in the stagnant air, accompanied by coarse whispers. Without making any significant movements or casting shadows, Eugene silently leaned against the wall, his heart racing, feeling the kid he held trembling.

He couldn’t make out the whispers clearly, but they differed from the local dialect, spoken quickly and abruptly, more akin to the northern highland style. Just by those muffled, grumbling conversations, he could visualize at least two burly men standing there, ready to snap the neck of even a passing crow if spotted.

For nearly an hour, the two real bystanders stood against the wall until they were certain the people beyond wouldn’t return. Only then did Eugene release the kid’s hand.

Then he did the second right thing.

He stopped the kid who wanted to circle around to see what had happened, commanding him in harsh tones to wait there while he cautiously peered out himself.

Even years later, after countless brushes with death and personal experiences on battlefields, the memory of what Eugene saw in that alley would involuntarily make him shudder.

It wasn’t the fear of the disfigured limbs or unrecognizable face, visible even in the darkness, nor the chunks of flesh, blood, and unknown organs scattered around. It was the terror, shock, and tragedy of the scene.

It wasn’t the result of a fight or a swift murder, but a thorough, torturous, human-made hell.

The Duke, after hearing Eugene’s account, slowly said, “So, a woman was killed in an alley. And Charlie wanted you to tell me specifically, hoping we could report this atrocity to the city guard?”

In Doran’s current state of royal conflicts, countless lives were claimed under various circumstances, and as stowaways, they were powerless to do anything for the woman.

The Duke’s reaction was entirely within the shopkeeper’s expectations.

Eugene struggled to delve back into the memories of that horrific night, forced to relive the distressing recollections whenever he closed his eyes.

“That woman’s abdomen was cut open,” Eugene added. “I thought the murderers took pleasure in torturing her, but the shopkeeper suspects they might have had other motives.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Given the mess… ‘they’ seemed almost to be searching for something inside the woman’s body.”

A woman’s abdomen split open.

Unless she had swallowed something not meant for her, what else could be hidden inside a human’s body cavity?

Only an unborn life—also a human.

Shivers frowned deeply, and Columbus was stunned. Reading about a murder in the newspaper was different from hearing a witness account. Eugene’s description made his hair stand on end—if he had any.

Before the Duke could ponder further, Eugene added, “There’s another problem.”

All eyes in the room turned to him. Columbus sat tensely on his armchair, leaning forward with anticipation.

“The accent of those speaking was quite distinctive.” Eugene paused, then uttered a phrase in a somewhat awkward manner.

His life of constant turmoil had honed many practical skills in him, and learning dialects was the best and fastest way to blend into the local underclass. Eugene had a bit of a knack for it. He could roughly mimic any language he had heard—not by truly learning it immediately, but by mimicking its intonation, speed, and phrase breaks to achieve a sound that, at first listen, was very similar.

Hearing this accent, the faces of Dwight and Shivers almost changed at the same time. The Duke seemed thoughtful, while the Knight Commander’s expression turned cold.

“It’s the Lion’s men,” Shivers said with some disgust.

Columbus: “??? What, what?”

But no one paid him any attention.

Dwight said, “Where is that rabbit head? Have him come see me.”

Eugene was almost impressed by Charlie’s masterful planning. He had almost guessed the Duke’s reaction perfectly!

“The shopkeeper told me to give this to you if I found you.” Eugene struggled to pull a tightly rolled tube of paper from the innermost pocket of his coat.

“What’s this?” Shivers took it, puzzled.

“If you’re caught with this, you’d be beheaded immediately.” Eugene immediately recalled what the rabbit-headed shopkeeper said when he handed this to him—the terrible thing was the other person’s expression was extremely solemn.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said dejectedly. He had never dared to open it.

Back on his old turf in Dogus, who hadn’t heard of “Eugene the Dirk“? He considered himself a seasoned tough character, having briefly mingled in the underworld and then turned into a freewheeling thief, familiar with plenty of double-dealing and danger. But compared to engaging in fierce battles, the way Duke Dwight and the rabbit-headed shopkeeper dealt with murder and death threats—with an air of casual seriousness, but clearly not joking—was even more terrifying to him.

Had he unwittingly boarded a tremendously dangerous ship?

Lately, Eugene couldn’t help thinking this.

Shivers unrolled the cylinder. The ink was bent, and before it was fully unfolded, anyone could see it was a hand-drawn map.

“This is…” Shivers said incredulously, “A map of the palace? Where did he get this?”

Dwight scanned it quickly. The map’s succinct strokes outlined all the entrances, exits, rooms, and courtyards of the palace—a military-grade map if there ever was one.

In a small room in the northwest corner of the palace, a particular pattern was drawn with red ink. It was tiny, but its simplicity made the contours of the long ears and high-top hat easily recognizable.

The message was clear: I’ll be waiting for you here.

The young Duke’s face showed no emotion, but his mind was in turmoil.

He knows my plan.

He knows if Priscilla comes to the capital with her husband, I plan to infiltrate King Tifa’s palace to find her.

While logically this was the most efficient approach, and it wasn’t surprising that Charlie could guess this, the Duke still felt uncomfortable about the other calculating his behavior patterns.

This was already quite a mild thought. At this time, those in power cherished being seen as dignified and inscrutable, especially influential nobles, who rarely showed their true characteristics, lest their opponents deduce their styles of action.

But oddly, the Duke’s primary concern wasn’t that the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had presumed to deduce his actions. What bothered him more was that the rabbit seemed to have been observing and understanding him all along. Conversely, for the Duke, Charlie remained much of a mystery, with each of his actions often puzzling.

Being studied and analyzed was upsetting to the Duke, although he couldn’t pinpoint the source of this irritation.

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The author has something to say:

Indeed, Eugene lacked the Duke’s noble birth and the shopkeeper’s worldly experience, but even the little guys have their strengths and can improve.

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Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

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

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Chapter 23

Geoffrey knelt on the icy cobblestone street, coughing so hard that his little face was contorted. When he saw a pair of feet stop in front of him, he looked up pitifully.

“Sir,” he gasped, “did I disturb you…?”

“Are you alright?” The foreigner helped him up and even patted off the dirt on his body.

“I’m just very hungry,” Geoffrey said timidly.

“Are you hungry?” The foreigner’s brown eyes showed a hint of distress.

Geoffrey almost couldn’t control his urge to laugh out loud, but the next moment he heard the other man say, “But the money you took from my purse should be enough to buy several loaves of bread, right?”

Geoffrey’s face changed color, realizing that his arm was firmly grasped in the other’s hand.

“I checked just now, and the purse isn’t on you,” the foreigner said casually. “Did you tie it to a dog?”

Geoffrey didn’t dare to look up. “Sir, what are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it.” The man’s tone wasn’t harsh, but his words made Geoffrey tremble with fear. “Your little partner is so obedient. It must love you very much. If it doesn’t find you at the agreed-upon place, it will surely come looking for you, right? After all, a dog’s nose is very sensitive. You see, killing a person requires a bit of mental preparation, but killing a dog requires none at all. It’s still cold out. Have you heard how dog meat should be cooked to taste good? I might need to buy some mint…”

“No!” Being just a child under ten years old, Geoffrey quickly pleaded for mercy. “Please forgive me… I’ll return the things to you. Please forgive me!”

“I am not an unreasonable person,” the foreigner smiled. “You just shouldn’t have tried to rob me. When I was your age…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Geoffrey, firmly grasped by him, had no choice but to lead the man forward. The old district was like a decaying spider web. Just two streets in, and there were no more streetlights. If Geoffrey could escape for just five seconds and darted into any alley, given the complexity of the roads and the darkness, no one would find him again. But the man’s grip was tight, and Geoffrey found no opportunity. As they got closer to his hideout, Geoffrey deliberately slowed his steps, about to say something, when suddenly the man behind him pulled him back.

A grown man and a child stopped in the pitch-dark alley. Geoffrey was about to speak when his mouth was suddenly covered. Forced against the cold, damp wall, he instinctively tried to struggle, but found himself tightly restrained, unable to compete with an adult man. He could only allow himself to be half-carried, half-dragged forward—this almost combat-ready action came very suddenly, but Geoffrey almost immediately realized it was not directed at him.

Before they could leave the alley, he smelled something odd.

A faint, damp smell of blood mixed with the alcohol scent from the foreigner’s palm, both carried together by the night wind into his nose.

On a moonless night, ordinary human eyes could hardly see much without light, but other senses became surprisingly sensitive.

Like sound and smell.

Geoffrey heard some broken voices, almost sure they came from about thirty steps away in Willow Lane, just around the corner from his private base.

But this was strange because Willow Lane was a dead end, just a corner formed by neighboring uneven houses. It had a name because the previous officer wanted to solve the problem of drunks relieving themselves and residents dumping trash there. It was an aborted plan that now only left a row of exceedingly narrow awnings, and even in daylight, it was almost the darkest corner.

Who was there?

Geoffrey’s heart pounded wildly. The blood smell in front of them was clearly stronger than here, and as he strained to decipher what those people were saying, the foreigner suddenly pushed him into his coat, completely cutting off the already faint voices.

“Why can’t I go down?” Columbus sat by the window, desolately peering through the glass at the newsboys below. “There must be big news… Ah, is that Eugene?”

At a street corner, a newsboy was surrounded by a crowd of mostly well-dressed gentlemen and several servants buying newspapers for their masters. A man in a wool shawl loudly said to those around him, “When that woman was found, her belly was slit open—it could be a wild beast…”

“How could there be wild beasts in the city?” The man beside him couldn’t help but argue. “These days are not peaceful. We shouldn’t let women go out after dark.”

Eugene, his face half-covered with a scarf to discreetly mask his darker skin compared to the locals, managed to buy a newspaper successfully. But then, a stone, seemingly from nowhere, hit his headscarf hard enough to startle him.

He looked up and saw the familiar bright colors of the tin soldier through a window across the street.

“Can painted eyes see especially far?” Eugene grumbled hoarsely as he entered the building, impatiently unwrapping his headscarf and heaving a deep breath. “I thought a bird had landed on my ear…”

“Eugene!” The tin soldier who opened the door for him was exuberant. “It was me who spotted you! But the stone was thrown by Shivers!

The tall Knight Commander smiled and motioned for Columbus to close the door. “What’s the matter? Wandering the streets in broad daylight?”

Eugene sneaked a glance at the tightly closed bedroom door, thinking but not daring to say aloud, “The highly sought-after beauty isn’t me.”

Who knows which noble’s mind was heated by rumors. Since the Duke of Brandenburg entered the city, the inn had been subjected to soldier inspections twice. These days, it was difficult even for Dwight to step out of his room without concealing his face, much less think of leaving the city by any route, which only added to the Duke’s irritation.

“Eugene! Where’s Charlie?” Columbus circled Eugene as if the shopkeeper was hidden in Eugene’s coat.

“We’ve rented two rooms at ‘Full Moon’ in Dog Tail’s Alley,” Eugene quickly explained. “The shopkeeper asked me to wander around the city tonight, trying to keep a low profile as we get closer to the witch’s domain.”

Since arriving in Doran, Charlie had indeed toned down his usually flamboyant demeanor and rarely left the carriage—Columbus was the same. It seemed that no matter what was said, he was quite wary of Elena and didn’t want to expose himself prematurely.

To Eugene, however, staying confined to a room, with food delivered only to the door, seemed overly cautious.

But Eugene didn’t voice this thought either—somehow, despite the shopkeeper’s friendly demeanor, which was a stark contrast to the ever-critical and temperamental Duke, Eugene felt an inexplicable respect for him. When Charlie arranged tasks with a kindly but firm tone, Eugene followed without questioning.

Shivers, however, agreed with the shopkeeper’s approach. In fact, while the Duke of Brandenburg was confined to the inn, he and Eugene played roles in gathering information, though due to different backgrounds, their methods and locales varied significantly, as did the restrictions they faced.

But some information didn’t require deep integration into the crowds.

“Although the plans have deviated slightly from the original track, this trip isn’t without merit,” said the tall Knight Commander. “In fact, it was fortunate we passed through the capital, as everyone here is discussing how, from Cross Street to the royal palace, the area is beginning to be militarized in preparation for the arrival of dignitaries.”

Columbus added, “Because of the king’s birthday! All the nobles will come to the capital, bringing wines, gems, precious silks, and the finest dwarven crafts—this is King Tifa’s third birthday since his coronation, and I’ve heard the previous two were very, very lively.”

The little tin soldier, with his painted features, looked forward with anticipation as if he could already see the streets filled with flowers, the grand processions moving from Cross Street to the palace, and beautiful young women in their finest clothes singing and dancing, filling the air with the scents of noblewomen’s powders and exotic spices.

Eugene poured himself tea and finally settled into a high-backed wooden chair. “I heard about this too. That’s why the shopkeeper wanted me to find you quickly. If things go smoothly, we could save a lot of time and effort. He was worried you might get stuck in some corner, avoiding the soldier’s inspections.”

“A city guard doesn’t have that much power, although the innkeeper did face some questioning. But when it comes to control over the capital, no one can exceed the king,” Shivers said calmly. “As long as we act discreetly, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Actually, Dwight himself didn’t take the absurd “wanted” situation seriously. If it had been an order from the king himself, it might have posed a real problem, but as a city guard, especially during King Tifa’s birthday, the motives were transparent to the Duke and the Knight Commander.

“So, we’ll decide to stay in the capital for now,” Shivers declared. “Until—”

He paused, noticing that Eugene stiffened slightly at the mention of staying.

“…What’s wrong?” Shivers asked.

In the past, in Lemena, someone of Shivers’ status and position would never have crossed paths with a lowly thief like Eugene, let alone observed him so closely.

But since Eugene joined their journeying party, even though Duke Dwight routinely mocked him, the young lord mocked everyone, so in a way, he treated Eugene no differently than others, not as a slave or an inferior servant. Though uneducated, greedy, and vulgar, Eugene wasn’t entirely without merit; he was stubborn, loyal, and often a bit foolish—but overall, not a bad person.

Thus, Shivers unconsciously began to see Eugene as one of their own, perhaps without even realizing how much he had changed along the way.

Eugene hesitated for a moment.

The tin soldier also sensed something and ran up to him. “Eugene, what happened?”

“About this matter, the shopkeeper wanted me to explain it personally to the Duke.” Eugene lowered his head, hiding his expression under his unkempt, shaggy beard.

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