Chapter 606: Yet the Best Show Has Only Just Begun

The fog in Roland City always carried a damp, sooty smell, which Newcas was sensitive to, as his hometown smelled the same.

The wheels rolled over the slick cobblestones, emitting a rhythmic clatter.

Across from him, Miss Marui Langbaine chattered incessantly about the lack of decorum among Lein men, nostalgic for the good days of Lei Ming City and the elegance of Deputy Dibiko, while secretly envying his lucky wife.

Yet Newcas wanted to say that mentioning another man's name on a date was also impolite in Lei Ming City… even if someone like him didn't care about purity.

Neither mentally nor physically.

"I think you're absolutely right—Lei Ming's girls are far too lucky… they don't deserve the gentlemen of Campbell. On the contrary, Lein ladies and Campbell gentlemen are made for each other."

Newcas carefully weighed his words, trying to make that illogical monologue sound just barely plausible to himself.

After all, while people with legs of unequal length are rare, they're not unheard of… aren't they? Logically speaking, with a precise enough ruler, you could always measure the difference down to the millimeter.

Newcas didn't even realize he was practicing science.

"Hehehe, you really know how to speak, sir from Campbell."

Watching Miss Marui laugh behind her folding fan, Newcas smiled gently, striving to show off his charm.

Velvet curtains shut out the uncouth world beyond, leaving only a dim, warm candlelight in the confined space.

Their conversation quickly turned to their "shared" interests.

Looking at the blushing face of the baron's daughter across from him, Newcas wore just the right expression of deep admiration.

He actually understood nothing about art and had no interest in it; he'd only heard of the hit Lei Ming play "Zhong Sheng" from Miss Marui herself.

But none of that stopped him from becoming a "seasoned" art connoisseur—after all, making up stories came naturally to someone like him.

If the woman across from him were the Duke himself, he'd be an architectural master, and Lei Ming City would flow with sweet honey and milk. If she were a drooling goblin, he'd be the duke's personal chef, and Lei Ming City would be a mountain of corpses and bones.

What's so hard about that?

Besides, Miss Marui had already revealed her preferred menu—he only needed to extract her letter's opinions, dip them in a touch of "empathy" honey, and replate them in a more elegant phrasing.

Newcas thought he was born to be a chef—no, a councilman. He could turn correct but useless nonsense into heavenly music.

Newcas only regretted that the letter Miss Marui sent him wasn't written in her own hand—most likely penned by her personal maid.

After all, he'd been talking nonstop for so long, yet Miss Marui, who claimed to have cried in the theater, still looked at him with pure awe.

"... Miss Eloise's most moving quality isn't that she defied anyone, but that she preserved her unyielding love even in despair. That beauty is fragile, and precisely because it is fragile, it becomes all the more heart-stopping. Just as you mentioned in your letter—it's a rose blooming on the cliff's edge."

"Oh… Mr. Newcas, I never knew you were such a sensitive man."

"I'm not sensitive at all—in fact, I'm rather coarse—"

"No, no, no, I think you're incredibly sensitive, hehehe, and so humble—I admire you so much!"

"Thank you… for your admiration…"

Fine.

Watching those eyes nearly dripping with longing, Newcas had to admit that conversing with Miss Marui was indeed an art.

Her unique capacity for empathy seemed confined solely to her own emotions, utterly blind to the stiffness clinging to others' lips.

It was hard to say whether this was ruder than loudly blowing one's nose—each had its own brand of barbarism… and Saint Xisi hadn't made two different legs for the same person.

But for his knightly title, and for tonight's chance to prove he was absolutely not sensitive, he decided to keep up the gentleman act.

Completely oblivious to the naked desire in Newcas's eyes, Miss Marui was lost in a pink honeyed dream.

Her hands clasped over her chest, her eyes—still untouched by worldly corruption—sparkled with the joy of finding a kindred soul.

In the cultural desert of Roland City, crude nobles only talked about hunting dogs and women; only Mr. Newcas understood what soul resonance meant.

"Oh, Mr. Newcas… you truly understand."

Marui shyly lowered her head, her gaze accidentally falling on Newcas's chest.

There, unlike other Lein men, he wore no useless medals—instead, he'd artfully folded a pure white silk handkerchief, revealing only an elegant triangular tip.

"You're even more gentlemanly than the gentlemen of Campbell—I've never seen anyone place a handkerchief there… is it for decoration?"

Newcas looked down at the handkerchief on his chest and smiled, charming and wry.

"Not entirely, Miss. I place it here because it's closest to the heart—and more importantly…"

He gazed into Marui's captivating eyes.

"If a beautiful lady sheds tears over that tragic love, the distance from here to her eyelash is shorter than pulling it from a pocket."

As he struggled to suppress his goosebumps, Miss Marui felt her heart skip a beat, her fan trembling slightly at the corner of her lips.

The air inside the carriage grew thick and hot, the ambiguous scent fermenting in the candlelight.

"Are we… talking about the play?"

"Of course. I hope the bell of the Grand Saint Roland Theater won't disappoint us. But I fear it might—after all, you've just come from Miss Qiqi's theater."

Newcas retreated with perfect ease—he had no intention of taking things further here, for what he sought wasn't a night's pleasure.

His goal was clear—

The knightly title!

As the warmth began to ebb, just as Marui was about to say something to preserve this intoxicating tenderness, the carriage jolted violently to a stop.

The sudden inertia nearly sent Newcas tumbling into Miss Marui's lap; the horses' neighs and the driver's cry shattered the carriage's romantic haze.

"What's going on?" Newcas pulled back the curtain and glared at the driver. "You crude oaf, you frightened our lady!"

"Sir, it's not my fault—the road ahead is blocked!" the driver nervously explained, tugging the reins to turn around.

"Blocked? Here?"

"It seems… Royal Guard."

Royal Guard?

Newcas's heart skipped. Weren't those Skagdin's men? Why were they enforcing orders here?

Realizing they were allies, he exhaled in relief, then gave the bewildered Miss Marui a reassuring glance, pouring out all the security and emotional value she needed.

"Leave it to me—I'll handle it."

Newcas leapt from the carriage.

His leather boots crunched on the damp cobblestones as he elegantly adjusted his collar, then strode toward the blocked theater under the driver's admiring gaze.

The entrance of the Grand Saint Roland Theater still blazed with light, but now it was guarded by soldiers who had no business being there.

Dressed in crimson uniforms, they stood like lobsters, guarding the castle, their bayonets intimidating the discontented citizens.

Sir Skagdin stood at the front.

By the torchlight, Newcas instantly recognized the familiar face.

In that instant, his tender gentlemanly demeanor evaporated like mist, collapsing into a smooth, worldly mask.

He pulled his coat tighter, quickened his steps, until Sir Skagdin finally noticed him.

Without a word, he smoothly slid a premium cigar from his sleeve and slipped it silently into Skagdin's leather glove.

"Hey, old friend, what's this about?"

Skagdin glanced at the high-quality cigar, recognized his favorite brand, and casually curled his fingers around it.

Yet though he accepted the gift, his expression didn't soften—it remained as cold as winter wind.

"As you see, I'm on duty."

"On duty? Why now?" Newcas pressed anxiously, offering a pleading look. "Come on, brother, I bought tickets—for a very important lady. Can't you make an exception? Just this once?"

"Exception? Newcas, this isn't about exceptions."

Skagdin spoke with mocking tone, then swung his whip toward the closed doors, adopting a strictly official posture.

"The Lei Ming play 'Zhong Sheng' is suspected of attacking our castle. Our Emperor dislikes it. The Archbishop dislikes it even more. We believe there's corruption from Chaos—this requires immediate 'theological investigation.' Please return home."

What the hell?

The King watched it too?

Who the hell put that on stage?

Newcas panicked.

He didn't care what the play was about—even if a monkey did somersaults on stage, it wouldn't matter. What mattered was Miss Marui in the carriage.

He'd spent weeks cultivating this connection—if they were turned away at the door, his carefully built image before the lady would be ruined!

"Don't do this, Skagdin."

Newcas's voice grew urgent, pleading, invoking their old friendship.

"We've slept off the same bottle of wine. Even if you won't let us in to watch, just let us sit inside for a while, have some tea—I'll tell her the whole cast fell ill. We can complain about the theater owner's blindness together. That lady is of noble rank—I can't make her turn back into the cold!"

Seeing this Campbell man refuse to yield, Skagdin's official demeanor finally cracked into impatience.

I'm standing guard in the freezing wind, and you're chasing girls in Roland City? What does sleeping off the same bottle mean? Drink your wine and you're my brother?

Look at your own clothes.

"Noble rank?"

Skagdin sneered, tapping Newcas's shoulder lightly with his whip like swatting away an annoying fly.

"Newcas, don't get too full of yourself. Let me tell you—you're a pipe salesman!"

"Even if you've slipped into the Third Assembly, don't think you can stand shoulder to shoulder with us. My advice: stay out of this mess. Get as far away as you can. I don't want to come to your house next time wearing this uniform!"

Seven parts contempt, three parts courtesy. If not for the shared wine, the butt of a rifle would already have struck him.

Newcas's smile froze on his face.

He didn't care about his own pride, nor did he believe Skagdin would ever visit his home—after all, his business had Baron Wickton's shares.

But now he was trapped between the knight and the baron's daughter, and the pressure on his head felt like a mountain.

What if…

You two fight?

I'll wait until one of you wins, then apologize to the victor?

Just as the standoff reached a stalemate, the door to the carriage behind them suddenly opened again.

Miss Ma Rui Langbaine inside the carriage had clearly grown impatient.

She stepped down from the carriage, lifting her elaborate gown and stepping in delicate high heels; the cold wind tumbled her carefully styled curls but could not dispel the anger on her face.

She uttered not a single word of nonsense, and even braver than Princess Ailin, she swung her lace folding fan like a short sword, striking hard against Skagedjin's chest.

Her action terrified Newcas; he thought of fighting as behind-the-scenes maneuvering, never imagining this young lady could be so crude.

Before either man could react, a perfectly kept jade hand slashed through the air in a sharp arc and landed a solid slap across the Royal Guard captain's face.

"Slap!"

The crisp sound of the slap rang out sharply in the silent, freezing night.

All the Royal Guards froze.

But they were seasoned guards, and with perfect unspoken understanding, they all bowed their heads or turned away to study the patterns on the smooth stone pillar by the theater entrance.

The citizens standing around were also stunned—they never imagined this lady would dare strike the Royal Guard captain across the face.

In their shallow understanding, Skagedjin's face was equivalent to the Emperor's face, especially since His Majesty had just awarded this fire captain a medal.

This was truly... a storm flooding the Saint Clement Cathedral!

It was an utter desecration!

Having missed one good show, they now found themselves watching another, eagerly anticipating what would come next.

Yet the plot unfolded in a way they never expected.

Skagedjin, the man who could have knocked them flying with a single blow, dared not move a muscle, his knees even trembling slightly.

"You untrained watchdog!"

Miss Ma Rui retracted her stinging hand and, with no trace of ladylike decorum, pointed at the dazed man and screamed.

"Didn't your father ever teach you manners? How dare you make a lady wait in the cold wind for your so-called inspection? By Saint Cis, I don't care what you're doing—but can't you wait until I've finished watching the play?"

Skagedjin's face broke out in cold sweat.

Others might not recognize Miss Langbaine's face, but as Royal Guard captain, he knew every noble and their family members who entered the palace.

Many others in the palace knew her too—the Royal Guard had more than one captain; he was merely one among them.

"It was the Bishop's order..."

Miss Ma Rui cursed even more fiercely.

"Ha! The Bishop? That Claude? The nobody without a surname—don't think becoming Bishop makes me forget what he used to be! That court jester—I threw an apple at his head when I was six, and he had to smile and pick it up for me! What does he know about art? Has he even understood the Holy Scripture?"

Skagedjin dared not respond.

Because he knew Miss Langbaine wasn't boasting—she said she'd thrown an apple at Claude's head, and she had.

Though both were barons, barons were not all the same. Some had the backing of great nobles, some of the King, others were fence-sitters caught in between.

For instance, their mutual patron, Baron Wickton—though a minister, his status was no different from Bishop Claude's; he was the King's rag.

When needed, they wiped their boots on him; when not, they tossed him into the fireplace.

Who knew Newcas had found an even bigger patron? Skagedjin stole a glance at him; his stern expression had instantly melted into groveling servility.

Brother... lend me a hand.

Newcas gave him a look of helpless amusement, not holding his earlier insults against him—but the situation had already surpassed his ability to handle.

Brother, I'd love to help you—but do you think I can hold her back?

Besides, we warned you...

Finally recalling Newcas's earlier words—"highly esteemed"—Skagedjin shut his eyes in agony, utterly defeated.

The cunning, treacherous Campbellers had once again tricked the honest, simple Lainians—and now he was trapped between baron and bishop...

Miss Ma Rui unleashed full fury, cursing for a full minute in the freezing wind, nearly grinding Skagedjin's face into the ground twice over.

Clearly, her rage wasn't just over the wait—she dumped all her pent-up frustration with the crude men of Roland City onto this poor knight.

Displaced anger.

The most undignified behavior.

And bullying the weak? The vilest act of all.

They say in Hell, high demons spend their days using goblins as cooking pots—so how had Roland City become so desecrated?

Sir Newcas silently sighed inwardly, wrestling with himself: was it worth risking a sacred marriage and a bright future over the title of a mere knight?

Yet he had to admit—he felt unworthy of fiery Miss Ma Rui, but Skagedjin and her were perfectly matched.

This further confirmed his "one man, two legs" theory: how could a watermelon vine grow a gourd?

They were made for each other.

The abused Skagedjin bowed deeply, picked up the fallen fan with both hands, and offered it reverently.

"A misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding! Beautiful Miss Ma Rui!"

His face, thick with fat, bloomed into a servile smile so fast even Newcas, the fire extinguisher salesman, was awestruck—his speed outpaced even Luo Ke's rifle.

"We were investigating those uncouth peasants, fearing their vulgar content might offend your eyes. But a lady and gentleman as refined as you two, of course, possess the discernment to distinguish true art... You both surely understand the elegance behind the performance."

He turned to the guards still pretending to be blind and barked.

"What are you all standing there for? Clear the path!"

You dogs—you drink, eat meat, and sleep with girls with me, yet when trouble comes, you all look everywhere but at the problem!

The guards immediately parted, clearing a wide path.

Skagedjin turned back to Miss Ma Rui, whose eyes had bulged like fish, stood straight with loyal posture, and gestured with a bow.

"Please enter—the wind is too cold outside. As for the performers... rest assured, I'll have them brought back immediately. Let you appreciate the art first—then our Bishop can judge it later."

The citizens beyond the barrier stared wide-eyed, feeling the stage hadn't followed the script they imagined.

Where was the King's dignity?

This...

Doesn't make sense.

Too bad Skagedjin didn't know what they were thinking—or he'd have re-educated their blasphemous brains again.

By Saint Cis, poor Mr. Skagedjin was merely a commoner who'd lucked into a knight's title after a fire.

What merit did he have to be the King's face? At best, he could use the commoner's favorite weapon—his fists—to make another group of commoners forget this blasphemous night.

As if tidying up a trivial household chore, Miss Ma Rui Langbaine slowly closed her folding fan.