Chapter 16: The Sleeping Maiden and the Gun-Cleaning Young Man

Yanmills merely assumed that Charlot had encountered an acquaintance in passing. He would never have guessed that this young man, whom he brushed shoulders with, was his most detested mortal enemy—none other.

As Charlot passed by Yanmills, he discreetly slipped the magical beetle Annie had entrusted to him into the latter’s coat pocket.

A few minutes later, the two crossed paths again.

Annie’s delicate face was tinged with a faint blush as she softly said, “Thank you, Mr. Charlot.”

Charlot offered a slight smile and replied, “It was a small effort. I merely wished to do something for the honor of Mrs. Yanmills.”

This was a heartfelt truth. The reputation of Mrs. Yanmills was intricately tied to Charlot’s own. If her honor remained unblemished, so too would his. But if her good name were to collapse into ruin, his would crumble like a house of cards.

No one in the world had a stronger desire than Charlot to see Mrs. Yanmills’ reputation remain pure and unsullied.

Yanmills did not pace around. Instead, he waited quietly in a guest room until the auction began, at which point he entered the venue.

Annie and Charlot hid in a corner of the auction hall, pretending not to know one another. Both, however, kept their eyes fixed on Yanmills, eager to discern his purpose here.

Soon, the renowned Duchess of Messau made her grand entrance.

She was not particularly old—just over thirty—and her meticulous care had preserved her radiant beauty. She was stunning, save for her towering stature, which surpassed that of most men. Otherwise, she was the epitome of what men dreamed of in an ideal woman.

Following the Duchess’s opening remarks, the first auction item was swiftly presented.

It was a magical longsword, with a starting price of 180 écu—far beyond Charlot’s total wealth.

The magical longsword drew great interest. After several rounds of bidding, its price soared past 300 écu, eventually being secured by a wealthy patron for an astounding 370 écu.

The second item also started at a price exceeding Charlot’s entire fortune. With no stake in the proceedings, he lost interest in the auction and wandered over to a nearby table laden with food and drinks, grabbing a few pastries to fill his stomach.

He hadn’t eaten since morning and was feeling rather hungry.

The Fars Empire had no custom of breakfast, adhering instead to a two-meal system of lunch and dinner. A few aristocrats indulged in afternoon tea or midnight snacks, but Charlot had yet to adapt to such habits.

He often bought breakfast for himself, even though the only available option was stale bread rings from the previous day.

After easing his hunger, Charlot poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in one go before returning to his corner, content.

By now, the seventh auction item had been brought out.

This item was an ancient painting said to depict the true visage of a foreign god of chaos.

While introducing the piece, the Duchess of Messau casually mentioned that it was linked to at least twelve bizarre and gruesome cases, with over 220 deaths associated with this magical artifact.

Despite this chilling backstory, the ancient painting was fervently pursued, ultimately fetching a high price at auction.

To the astonishment of Charlot and Annie, Yanmills also entered the bidding. In the fourth round, he claimed the item for 507 écu.

Having secured the painting, Yanmills hurriedly left, his determination evident. Clearly, this was his primary objective.

Annie gave Charlot a discreet signal, and the two exited the magical artifact auction one after the other.

This auction had been an eye-opening experience for Charlot, expanding his horizons considerably. Although they had to leave early, he did not feel much regret—after all, none of the items on offer were remotely within the financial reach of a chief clerk of a prison.

Outside the auction hall, Annie, who had left ahead of him, was already waiting in the carriage.

As Charlot boarded, Annie instructed the coachman to set off immediately.

There was no time for pleasantries between Annie and Charlot. She closed her eyes and began murmuring an incantation. Occasionally, she raised her voice to direct the coachman on their course.

Unfamiliar with the extraordinary powers of the dream-crafting arts, Charlot was left idle. He pondered whether, if he had time that afternoon, he should go inspect some houses.

From time to time, Charlot lifted the curtain of the carriage window and found the road increasingly familiar. As the carriage sped along, the surroundings stirred an unease deep within him. “This is the road to Mrs. Yanmills’ residence,” he realized.

He dared not mention this to Annie, as such familiarity was far from innocent.

When the carriage finally came to a stop in front of an imposing residence, a flood of familiar memories surged through Charlot’s mind.

Among these memories were recollections of how he and a certain young lady of the house had engaged in activities that could neither be publicly described on modern forums nor included in a novel without censorship.

Charlot felt a pang of embarrassment. Although he could attribute these youthful indiscretions to his predecessor, the consequences were his to bear. He could only tread carefully, navigating each predicament with caution.

“I’ll need a short nap,” Annie murmured softly, her cheeks flushing. “Please guard me for half an hour, Mr. Charlot.”

Her bashfulness was evident. For a maiden of any era, admitting the need to nap near an unfamiliar man and entrusting him with her safety hinted at an unspoken sentiment.

Although both knew this was a necessity of her dreamcrafting arts and devoid of romantic implications, a faintly amorous atmosphere inevitably arose.

Charlot smiled faintly and said, “Miss Annie, rest assured.”

Annie expressed her gratitude, clasped her hands tightly, closed her eyes, and slipped into a deep slumber. Her long eyelashes fluttered slightly as she entered the realm of dreams.

With nothing else to do, Charlot pulled out his newly purchased Magnum Mauler and began cleaning it with a cloth.

A rapier was neither practical nor inconspicuous to carry around, and Charlot had left his own behind. Besides, a pistol was far more effective as a self-defense weapon.

This secondhand pistol, though well-maintained, bore traces of grime. Being somewhat of a neat freak, Charlot had long intended to give it a thorough cleaning.

He polished the gun until it gleamed like new, then inspected the ammunition. Loading eighteen rounds into the chamber, he left two spare bullets aside. Once the safety was off, the gun, though slightly worn, was primed for action.

In the stillness of the parked carriage, with a sleeping maiden and a young man cleaning his gun, the scene formed an oddly captivating tableau.

Charlot slid the gleaming pistol into the holster inside his coat. Suddenly, a sense of foreboding gripped him. He immediately activated the Eye of Insight, and a sphere with a fifteen-step radius spread outward from his position.

To his shock, he saw black smoke billowing from the opulent Yanmills residence.

Annie, still in her slumber, began to writhe in pain, her face contorted, her moans pained. No matter how he called her, she remained trapped in her dreams.

Without hesitation, Charlot leapt from the carriage and dashed toward the Yanmills estate. The moment he stepped onto the grounds, it felt as though he had entered an entirely different world.

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