Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
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Chapter 46
Charlie’s shirt sleeves were rolled up high as he stared at the comfortable back of the head in front of him, unable to suppress a flare of irritation.
Although he knew that nobility—especially old-fashioned aristocrats like Dwight, who had inherited their titles for nearly three centuries—had long since lost traits like “shame” and “politeness” through the sieve of time, when the Duke haughtily ordered him to rearrange the bathroom to his liking and took it for granted that he should wash his hair, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper felt a slight urge to slam the desk lamp onto that glittering golden head.
Resigned to the idea that the one who pays calls the shots, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper mentally prepared himself and humiliatingly rolled up his sleeves. Still, the Duke was hardly satisfied, claiming that “since birth he had never been bathed by anyone but young maids with unblemished skin and soft hands that never calloused. After leaving his estate, first by the coarse-handed Shivers and now by Rabbit Head, barely even human—if his grandfather and father were still alive, they certainly wouldn’t forgive his fall from grace.”
Charlie listened expressionlessly to Dwight’s picky rant, thinking to himself that God truly is fair. While giving this lord a face sharp enough to be considered a weapon, He also seemed to have stripped away any likable aspect of his personality.
The Duke of Brandenburg didn’t need to look back to know that Rabbit Head wasn’t in a good mood. Rather than being oblivious to social cues—which wasn’t an option for the Dwight family—he was probably doing it on purpose.
Ever since their bizarre encounter with the Lamp Bearers, he noticed a subtle and delicate shift in the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s perpetually unflappable demeanor. His emotional changes became more direct, more outward, more controllable, albeit only slightly.
So, the mischievously inclined Duke developed a new game: trying various methods to make that furry façade crumble—whether through fear, worry, or anger.
But this guy was more tolerant than he expected. While he anticipated that the shopkeeper would agree to bathe him, provoking him with grandiose talk clearly wasn’t effective.
But it didn’t matter. It was still enough to amuse the Duke.
As long as Dwight kept quiet, his presence was a picture that was hard to look away from.
His normally well-kept light golden hair had grown a bit longer and hung in a more compliant manner when wet.
Charlie hooked a finger around a crystal bottle, expertly pouring out the powder within and mixing it with fragrant oil before applying it to the hair, starting to knead it in.
Regardless of his inner thoughts, the rabbit-headed shopkeeper’s movements were as gentle as ever. He seemed to have a knack for massaging the scalp. The way his knuckles pressed brought a pleasurable sensation that traveled from Dwight’s spine up to the top of his head, almost raising goosebumps.
The Duke opened his eyes, and the fuzzy reflection of that Rabbit Head in the stained-glass window opposite the bathtub was impressively proficient.
Dwight couldn’t help but recall how every woman who the rabbit-headed shopkeeper had struck up a conversation with since their time in Maplewood and now in this inn had ended up giggling endlessly, and he snorted softly through his nose.
Charlie found the Duke’s behavior utterly baffling but maintained a polite and puzzled demeanor.
“Well done,” Dwight unexpectedly praised him. “Is the popularity of your general store among women due to these skills?”
Across the continents, leveraging charm and tact in business wasn’t uncommon, but that didn’t mean there was less disdain for these methods.
22 Paulownia Street certainly didn’t gain its reputation by pleasing women, but with just a few inches of rabbit fur on his head, other than getting enough practice on women’s long hair, the Duke couldn’t think of any other possibility.
“Ah, that’s not it,” the rabbit-headed shopkeeper cheerfully replied. “My neighbor, Mr. Fran, has several long-haired dogs. I help him bathe them when he’s too busy.”
The Duke refused to speak to him until lunchtime the next day.
Charlie wasn’t particularly bothered by the lack of conversation. After all, apart from mockery and orders, only someone suffering from Stockholm syndrome like Shivers would enjoy their interactions.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper asked for several newspapers and a cup of strong tea from the innkeeper, sitting alone in his room to reassess his situation and plan.
While carefree farmers and pampered nobles might live each day untroubled, for those who must carefully navigate a path through hidden traps, maintaining a clear head and avoiding every possible mistake was key to survival.
Charlie wasn’t overly concerned about Columbus’ whereabouts, as strictly speaking, this was Columbus’ homeland.
Although Columbus’ naturally cheerful and lively demeanor sometimes made the tin soldier seem a bit reckless, after so many years living together with the rabbit-headed shopkeeper, he wasn’t short on wits or experience. As long as he was unimpeded, years of tacit understanding would enable them to find each other.
In contrast, the disappearance of Elena was more troubling to the rabbit-headed shopkeeper. The curse on Columbus was increasingly hard to suppress, which didn’t mean that the witch’s power had suddenly grown stronger; rather, the strength of the curse was gradually weakening over time.
However, a weakening curse didn’t mean it would disappear. The little tin soldier seemed like a vessel for a soul created in violation of natural laws, and his body kept him from sickness and injury, even granting him additional life. The curse’s power was the adhesive holding it all together.
But just like living beings, artificial creations also had a lifespan, and when the glue holding the parts together began to fail, the vessel would crumble and collapse.
Even at this point, the shopkeeper hadn’t found a good solution to this problem.
Not to mention whether Elena’s hatred for him had slightly dissipated enough to cooperate, what if Elena suddenly had a change of heart and became utterly loyal to Charlie? Would that be enough to break the curse? No god could conjure a new body for Columbus out of thin air.
Reinforcing or improving the existing curse? Charlie could manage that on his own. Otherwise, Columbus wouldn’t have been able to live safely in Pennigra for so many years without the witch’s influence. But if the foundation was already shaky, reinforcing it would only be a temporary fix.
Fixing it himself or having Elena do it would only extend the collapse from three months to six months. Charlie absentmindedly played with his teacup, the deep sense of exhaustion making him sigh heavily.
Leaving Pennigra to come to Doran was extremely dangerous for him, and Columbus knew this, which made him feel guilty. Charlie decided to clear his mind of these thoughts and switch to his employer’s perspective, trying to piece together the clues from this journey.
The Mokwen royal family was more chaotic than he expected. The fact that the King and the Earl’s families were at odds was practically written on the city walls, and one of the main players was Duke Dwight’s sister. If he didn’t grasp the inside story, it was unlikely that the headstrong lord would plan on returning home.
But aimlessly waiting around wasn’t the Duke’s style. Even with his identity carefully concealed, staying one more day meant more danger. A competent leader wouldn’t carelessly put himself at risk, so Dwight must have other plans and contingencies, but he wouldn’t confide them in Charlie. This was understandable. Charlie also kept things from him. This mutually beneficial yet uncomfortable arrangement was as convenient as it was irritating.
The rabbit-headed shopkeeper sighed deeply again.
He had left Doran for a long time, taking care not to leave any traces for safety reasons. If he wanted to avoid disturbing old friends and act independently, ample funds were crucial.
Aside from that, reliable and discreet information wasn’t cheap anywhere. If their lovable little Cici were with them, perhaps they could rely on the Fox family, but the Fox family wasn’t foolish enough to let someone so naive run around in a dangerous place like this, so they had to deal with the more cunning and three-gutted Yitzfa.
Someone like him could only be handled by a wealthy and unflinching Duke like Dwight. Charlie’s years of running a business had brought some stability, but he couldn’t freely use money as Dwight did.
He refocused on the Mokwen royal family.
The bizarre death of a woman in the King’s bedroom, the murder Eugene encountered in the alley, the maid at Thorn Manor, and—different local tabloid reports. Charlie’s big, round rabbit eyes stared at the now-cold teacup, deep in thought.
This clearly wasn’t right. In tumultuous times, death often loomed in the shadows, but the events they encountered still seemed abnormal, with a high frequency of women—especially young women—meeting tragic ends.
Both women and children, whether in times of peace or war, were valuable population resources. From households and villages to entire kingdoms and alliances, they were protected from conflict and warfare.
So, this unusually frequent and wide-ranging death of women felt like a coal chunk in a bowl of sugar, glaringly out of place…
No, something’s off! Charlie sat up straight.
Because Doran didn’t have the strong empire alliance like Pennigra, news between its various kingdoms and regions was closed off and difficult to flow. Given their lack of legal status and specific objectives, traversing multiple locations in a short time, most common mercenary groups and bandits wouldn’t notice the small local newspapers or tabloid scandals.
This indicated that nothing was a coincidence or an accident but was simply not yet noticed! But why? The dead women were either prostitutes or rural farm girls, with the common trait of low status, and all quite young. The King’s mistress was pregnant, but the Mokwen royal family was so large and complex that even replacing a Queen wouldn’t allow a low-born, illegitimate child to ascend the throne.
Charlie rubbed his face, trying to uncover the source of his uneasiness.
The brutal murder Eugene witnessed, with a mutilated body, symbolized pregnancy in a disturbing way… Could all those women have an overt or covert connection to pregnancy?
The young maids recruited by Thorn Manor were also of childbearing age… Thinking of the carriage dragging body bags through the woods, Charlie unconsciously tightened his grip on his pen.
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