Chapter 1051: Act 223 – The Cat and the Drunkard
Sangbao is located by a small lake called Stroy on the western side of Rustra. At the turn of summer and autumn, the lake reflects the majestic castle and the distant snowline of the Hazelroi Mountains, with the silhouettes of towering forests and white maples. It is one of the most famous scenic spots near the imperial capital, but also a royal hunting ground.
However, the imperial royal family does not reside here often, usually retreating only during the long summer. Since Queen Constance ascended to the throne, the usage of the castle has decreased, sometimes only a visit every two or three years, and even when they do come, they seldom stay for more than a month.
Even so, there are always throngs of servants in the castle, with the royal guard stationed regularly. Moreover, half a month ago, a new batch of mountain-dwelling maidens was brought in, along with the Flame Blade Knight Troupe who rotated with the royal guard, which added quite a bit of life to the place.
But tonight, this ancient and elegant castle by the lakeside is unusually quiet.
The silver moon, ‘Temptress,’ slowly moves over the nearby forest, casting long shadows of the white maples as it shifts, crossing the fences and pathways in the woods, leaving a shadow atop the castle walls.
The wind stirs the clouds in the night sky, and moments later, the shadows on the castle wall begin to writhe, slowly rising from the ground and gradually forming into a woman dressed as a veiled witch.
The woman stands at the battlements for a moment, looking curiously into the courtyard, which is engulfed in darkness, with no signs of light even in the stables. There are no hidden guards nor patrolling soldiers on the walls.
If it were any other day at this hour, the servants would have long since gone to bed, but at the very least, there would still be a minimum defense force in the castle to prevent such complete silence.
Furrowing her brows, she walks toward the edge of the battlements, and at that moment, the moonlight spilled down from the clouds seems tangible under her feet, forming tiered steps. One by one, she descends into the courtyard.
A faint silvery glow spreads from her body in all directions, and in an instant sweeps over the entire castle.
The woman raises an eyebrow, as if realizing something. Just then, she suddenly glances back in the direction she came.
As if hearing some movement, she prepares to leave, but at that moment, a flash of surprise and anger suddenly crosses her eyes. She lifts her right hand, and a palm-sized crystal orb appears in her palm. It continuously displays several images that flicker like fleeting lights. A normal person would not be able to see them clearly, but she captures one of the images in her gaze in the blink of an eye.
If Brendel were here, he would surely recognize the scene as being from the Cat and Whiskers Inn.
With a flick of her hand, the crystal orb instantly transforms into a cloud of silvery light dust, and she herself shatters, as if breaking glass, melting away in an instant into the moonlight.
Just as the woman departs, several small shadows land quietly on the castle walls behind her.
They are several cats.
The frontmost black cat, adorned with a large bow around its neck, curiously looks around and speaks in the distinct sweet voice of JarSugar: “Strange, why is there no one here? Even if the knights have been led away by the lord, there should still be guards inside the castle, right?”
Hearing this, a yellow-and-white striped cat behind the black cat shows a nervous expression and hurriedly whispers, “Shh, lower your voice, Miss. It’s bad that there’s no one here; do you want to attract everyone?”
“Babasha, what are you afraid of? Haven’t we confirmed that the knights of the Flame Sword left a long time ago? Either to assist the lord in battle or to deal with those strange folks inside the city, they certainly won’t be here. Besides, those left behind aren’t my match,” the black cat replied confidently.
“Miss, it’s better to be cautious, just in case. After all, this is the Empire; let’s not forget Agatris and the others are also here,” Babasha cautioned while looking nervously around.
“There’s no one here,” JarSugar the black cat nonchalantly glanced at the darkened castle, raising her head to sniff the air and pondering, “But there’s a strange scent in the air, like our kind has been here. Strange, how can I not tell? Did that woman have such powerful subordinates? Could it be the Witch Queen?”
Babasha gasped, “That woman couldn’t possibly be here.”
“Hmm,” JarSugar nodded, “It really isn’t her aura. Strange, are there such powerful figures among this generation of witches?”
“Let’s hurry and focus on the task at hand, Miss…”
JarSugar leapt gracefully down from the battlements, landing silently on the grassy meadow of the courtyard like a true feline, without making a sound.
Following her, three other witches transformed into cats also jumped down in sequence. They strolled around the courtyard but found no one.
“There’s no one here, Miss,” spoke the white cat behind Babasha, looking the tiniest but emanating a voice of a middle-aged woman.
“That woman is indeed unreliable. Be cautious, Miss. This might be a trap.”
Hearing the word “trap,” Babasha’s fur stood on end. She instinctively looked back but found the courtyard as tranquil as ever.
“Relax, Babasha. Even if there’s a trap, it’s aimed at the lord, not you, an old woman, that Queen has no interest in,” JarSugar replied.
“Miss,” the white cat previously speaking suddenly chimed in again, “There are people in the castle.”
JarSugar nodded, realizing, “Left front, third room.”
With elegant cat-like movements, she approached the window of that room, leaped lightly and landed on the windowsill. She extended her claws and nudged to create a gap, and a strong stench of alcohol immediately rushed out.
“That’s why I hate drunkards—”
Hobbes Bareck truly qualified as a drunkard. He was a dwarf from Ambros, addicted to liquor but also the best horse trainer in the entire empire. The royal family hired him to serve as the equestrian master of Sangbao. Usually, he would not dare touch a drop—dwarves, no matter how carefree, would never disregard the strict rules of the royal household, especially since he cherished this job.
Putting aside how rich the royal stables were, just the status of being the strongest imperial equestrian master was enough to make him immensely proud.
However, today was a special case. The royal guard had been replaced by the knights of the Flame Sword, and earlier the servants in the castle had also been moved. He was left behind to help look after the knights’ steeds, and a few hours ago, the knights had left.
Now, the empty castle was entirely under his control.
He didn’t dare touch the royal wine cellar in the basement, but the few large barrels of fine wine stored in the kitchen posed no problem for him. Although they could not be compared to the royal collection, they were enough to satiate his craving.
He lay hazily on several bags of flour, long forgetting how much alcohol he had consumed. It seemed like a small barrel of dwarven liquor, followed by three bottles of Randefiel liqueur, a bottle of whiskey. The alcohol seemed to envelop him in a thick cloud.
Hobbes Bareck let out a belch; this was the life he pursued. In his drunken dreams, he envisioned earning enough money to return home and build a unique wine cellar, filled with all manner of rare brews: the Griffin’s Feather from 366, the Black King of Phyllis, and the renowned Cold Moon wine, which was produced in the year of the Cold Moon and nearly ruined by a snow disaster that winter. Still, it resulted in a uniquely crisp flavor, a top treasure amongst various royal and noble households.
He dreamt of entertaining guests, with a long table adorned with white linen, piled high with various world-renowned wines and colorful fruits and vegetables, and a black cat tied with a bow straying among them.
Hobbes Bareck paused, nearly thinking he made a mistake. Why was there a black cat on the banquet table? He couldn’t help but rub his eyes, only to find that there wasn’t just one cat on the table, but also two white cats and a calico cat.
Unable to resist, he sat up and instinctively prepared to give a good scolding to his dream servants, but he hadn’t yet opened his mouth when the black cat spoke to him:
“Hobbes Bareck,” the black cat raised a paw and swatted at its nose in disdain, “Damn drunkard, I’ll give you a few words; otherwise, I’ll send you to hell!”
The dwarf horse trainer’s eyes widened; a cat was actually speaking human language. He shook his head, thinking he was indeed dreaming.
But moments later, he suddenly woke up, and everything in the dream shattered like smoke, leaving him once again in a dark kitchen, the narrow space filled with a strong stench of alcohol and the odor of raw meat.
Standing directly across him were exactly four cats, with the black cat leading, all staring at him with glimmering eyes glowing in the darkness.
“Ghost!”
The dwarf screamed in fright, scrambling backward in panic. He crashed into a barrel behind him with a loud bang, causing a ruckus above his head as jars of spices tipped over from the shelves, raining down on him.
“Pfft,” JarSugar couldn’t help but laugh at how foolish he was, though she quickly composed herself: “Hobbes Bareck, do you hear my words?”
Witches are skilled in manipulating dreams and had long known the other’s name within the dream.
But the dwarf horse trainer was drenched in cold sweat. Encountering a black cat in the middle of the night in Vaunte was not a good omen; some rural legends often considered black cats, like crows, to be messengers of death, and these bringers of misfortune are often linked to witches, making things worse.
Hobbes Bareck had no idea that right before him stood several witches, but fear gripped him. Connecting the black cat to past omens, he assumed she was indeed a messenger of death, come to send him to hell.
Had he drunk himself to death?
His heart sank in despair.
The sorrowful thought was that he had not yet had enough to drink.
“I have a question for you,” but JarSugar, disregarding his thoughts, spoke, her eyes sparkling with an enchanting light, as if she could invite him into a dream: “Where has the lady of the house gone?”
…
Holy Contipal Palace, White Rose Garden—
Two rows of knights slowly halted outside the gates of the rose garden. It was the dead of night; there was no one on the imperial road, and rows of oak trees stood solemnly on either side, casting dark shadows on the ground.
Outside this grand palace is a vast open meadow, with no other buildings for hundreds of meters, all part of the royal gardens, but the knights arriving at this hour still disturbed the residents in the distant blocks.
Civilians peeked through their windows, illuminated by the cold light of the moon, and could clearly see the knights clad in black armor—not the royal guard and not the temple’s Flame Guard—but the retinue of some duke. Why were they visiting so late?
Inside the Holy Contipal Palace, a gaze is also directed at these knights.
Constance can clearly see the scene in the rose garden and on the imperial road through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows of her study. She sits behind her desk, and the crystal ball beside her has long lost its previous glow, showing no more images of the mountain forests near Hanlu Manor, but remains dark with a glimmer of moonlight reflected on its edge.
At this moment, the room is empty except for the Queen of Dragons silently standing in the darkness beside her. Neither speaks, and the queen’s gaze penetrates the glass of the window, observing the tightly guarded black carriage between the two rows of knights.
She watches as a knight opens the carriage door, and first a maid steps down—a woman with fiery red hair and bronze skin, a typical feature of mountain dwellers.
After the maid steps out, she slight bows before assisting a well-dressed princess to exit.
That is her lady countess.
At this, the Silver Queen reveals a proud expression.
“When will our Prince arrive?” she inquires.
“He is on his way, Your Majesty,” the dragon queen replies from the shadows.
“The ministers have been waiting in the hall for a long time,” she adds after a moment, “Your Majesty.”
“It’s of no concern,” the Silver Queen answers, “Let me be alone for a while, Gwenethlyn.”
The dragon queen nods, though her stance remains unchanged.
“Those mice have been causing quite a stir today.”
“Yes, I just inquired, the city guard has been drawn away due to the battle over there.”
“Then go tell my dear knight captain what he should be doing now.”
The dragon queen nods again.
“Go, return before the main banquet begins; that is the theme of today’s feast.”
With that, the dragon queen retreats into the shadows, followed by the sound of the door opening, and then a ‘click’ as all sounds dissolve into silence.
Constance quietly looks at the night scenery outside the window, silent.
“…You were once the kindest princess of the Crusian people; if you still wish to return to the right path…”
“I have never been more convinced that I stand on the right path than I am now.”
“Obsession is clouding your vision, Your Majesty.”
“On the contrary, it is precisely you who cannot see the path ahead…”
Before her eyes, an illusion seems to stretch out.
