Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 89

Chapter 89: The Child from the Pay-to-Win Parenting Game (6)

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The carriage road in the wilderness had barely been maintained, rough and uneven. The apprentice serving as the coachman was repeatedly warned by the troupe performer not to touch even a drop of malt ale. He sat hunched on the outside of the carriage, guiding the blind horse with a lantern hanging beside him.

 

After leaving Dockshire, they entered a dark forest, where the branching limbs looked like the claws of devils. The underbrush was piled with fallen autumn twigs. The apprentice had to carefully steer the carriage around large stones to prevent the wooden frame from shaking apart. Even though he knew there was a powerful magician onboard who could stop such a disaster, he didn’t dare relax.

 

But that didn’t save him from being harshly cursed out by the irritable troupe performer—especially since the performer had been drinking tonight.

 

As expected, the man would lose his temper and shout—

 

“Are you insane?! Someone from the Holy Court should haul you off!”

 

His angry voice thundered like muffled summer lightning echoing through a mountain valley. The apprentice flinched, drawing his neck in. Another apprentice lying asleep in the carriage stirred slightly in his dreams.

 

“Quiet,” the flute player said coldly, staring at the performer. His eyes briefly glowed red. With sharp features and thin lips pressed into a line, he warned, “If you can’t fall asleep naturally, I don’t mind knocking you out with my flute.”

 

His voice was low, like a snake spitting venom.

 

The performer caught a glimpse of his eyes and instinctively backed down, sitting on the wooden bench and punching his own thigh in frustration.

 

His voice lowered, but he still grumbled, “That’s the Count’s child, damn it. Do you understand what that means? You want to bring the Holy Court down on us?”

 

The magician lifted the curtain and entered, leaning casually against the side of the carriage with a relaxed posture. “I bet you’re thinking… last year in Yassina City, they should’ve nailed him to a poplar stake.”

 

The performer fell silent—because the magician had guessed exactly what he was thinking.

 

The relationships among the core members of this circus troupe were just like their vagabond life and this rickety long carriage: strained and ready to fall apart. There was none of that love-and-light devotion the Holy Court preached—only hatred simmering at the edge of violence.

 

“I’m pureblood.”

 

Poplar stakes were useless—only ignorant Holy Court knights still believed they could kill vampires. Even decapitation was nothing more than a child’s prank to a pureblood vampire.

 

The flute player glanced up coolly.

 

The person in his arms stirred, and he immediately shifted his attention. His actions were clumsy but careful as he gently patted Shui Que on the back.

 

Despite the fierce arguing, the little young master from the Count’s household still slept peacefully, cheeks flushed pink, utterly unaware.

 

The magician raised an eyebrow. “How many lullabies did you play?”

 

To have the entire castle fall asleep—so deeply that even the birthday boy himself could be stolen away without anyone noticing?

 

No wonder they’d kept them waiting in the carriage so long before finally returning and ordering them to move out.

 

The flute player didn’t bother answering that irrelevant question. Instead, he addressed the earlier doubt from the performer.

 

“He is also my child,” the flute player said calmly. “I am his godfather.”

 

When children were born and baptized in Tuva, they would be assigned a nominal godfather or godmother as guardians. By then, the flute player had already left his clan. He wasn’t sure where the letter came from—a young vampire named Yun requested he be godfather to her child, a way to shield the half-blood infant.

 

The flute player had no particular interest in such matters. That young vampire didn’t seem to be pureblood either, and it was easy to imagine how frail and mixed-blood a child between a half-vampire and a human would be.

 

Still, he found it curious—why would any vampire ask a pureblood who had abandoned his clan over a century ago to be a godfather?

 

Since vampires couldn’t appear in the Holy Spirit Church, he had simply sent back some jewelry and silk to the listed address and silently accepted.

 

That had been a long time ago. It was only when he sensed the aura of a young vampire that he remembered his godchild in Dockshire.

 

“…Still, you can’t just take the child like that,” the troupe performer choked out after hearing his story.

 

The flute player had been away from human society so long, he seemed to have lost all basic empathy.

 

With complete certainty, he asked, “Why not? He’s my child.”

 

He probably was exactly the sort of cold and caustic demon humans spoke of.

 

The troupe performer, being human himself, couldn’t believe it. “Did you give birth to him?”

 

Just a godfather in name, one not even publicly recognized. Damned undead!

 

The flute player gave him a sidelong glance and said no more. He only focused on holding the young vampire, as if cradling something precious.

 

【Congratulations, player has unlocked Shui Que’s backstory】


【Positive Effect: 25% chance of immortality】


【Negative Effect: 1. Cannot walk + 2. Weak constitution [Combined status effects: -30 Health, -30 Strength, -3 Action Points, -4 Mood Points]】

 

Guan He: ?

 

He stared at the belated system notification.

 

Why didn’t it say so at the start of the game?

 

Wasn’t this basic information?

 

Damn this game company!

 

【Wasn’t the starting draw limited to human race only?】


【Why is the streamer’s luck so good? I saw other streamers in beta tests crying with envy.】


【Oh my god… a one-of-a-kind vampire baby…】


【No wonder the fangs were so sharp! Bite me! Mommy just did a full blood panel last month—super healthy!】

 

Shui Que wasn’t sleeping well.

 

It felt like drifting in a small boat across a vast ocean.

 

Time passed, and the first rays of dawn pierced through the forest branches.

 

The red canopy above the carriage roof couldn’t block the daylight. The world was bright.

 

His lashes fluttered like little fans.

 

Still half-dazed, Shui Que mumbled, “Mm?”

 

The carriage was plain, with an oak-framed window open. The air carried scents of wild mountain daisies hidden in the underbrush, tree sap dripping from thin bark, bees mingling with cinquefoil.

 

Everything swayed gently. This wasn’t the silk-covered bed he was used to. There was no blue woven carpet. Instead, he was covered in a coarse linen blanket.

 

His feet were a bit cold—he must have kicked off the covers in his sleep.

 

A long, bony hand reached from behind, pinched the corner of the blanket, and gently covered his snowy-white feet.

 

Only then did Shui Que realize he hadn’t been leaning on his usual brocade cushions.

 

“You’re awake?”

 

The flute player didn’t need sleep. He had watched Shui Que the entire night.

 

Shui Que startled, like a bird ready to fly from its branch. He propped himself up to escape, “Who are you…?”

 

He clearly remembered falling asleep in his own big bed last night.

 

And now, everything had changed.

 

He couldn’t walk and couldn’t move far. Leaning against the oak carriage wall, he shrank into the corner.

 

The flute player wasn’t sure how to introduce himself.

 

He did want to say his name—but after centuries of slumber and wandering, he had forgotten it entirely.

 

Whether human or monster, everyone who knew him simply called him “the flute player.”

 

Just as they called the magician simply “the magician.”

 

The flute player offered a brief explanation: “I’m your godfather. Your mother once asked me to take care of you.”

 

It sounded like the most half-hearted child abduction excuse on all of Tuva.

 

In Shui Que’s memory, they had only met for the first time yesterday.

 

He quietly tugged the blanket away from the other and wrapped himself in it, leaving only a small, cautious face exposed.

 

“I don’t know you,” Shui Que said. “I want to go home. Otherwise, my father will be worried.”

 

Count Louis couldn’t eat or sleep because he couldn’t find him.

 

He was a brave little boy.

 

He was trying to negotiate with the despicable human trafficker, asking timidly in a soft voice, “What do you want? Gold? Silver? Jewels? Or maybe land? My father has everything. He even owns a large vineyard…”

 

To appear more imposing during the standoff, Shui Que puffed out his chest and declared with firm conviction, “I’m his most precious treasure. Whatever you want, you can trade with him for me.”

 

He was the youngest child most favored by the Count.

 

The flute player frowned. “I don’t want anything. I lack nothing.”

 

Shui Que glanced around the crude carriage, noting that there wasn’t even a proper bed—just some blankets and mats laid out with a pillow and a quilt on top.

 

It was nothing like the soft, canopied silk bed he usually slept in.

 

He murmured softly, “Really…?” Did he truly lack nothing?

 

The flute player didn’t grasp his tone or implied meaning. He believed he had already explained everything.

 

A godfather raising his godchild, especially after the death of the parents, was a normal occurrence.

 

He completely ignored the fact that the boy’s human father was still very much alive and well.

 

He hadn’t come for gold or jewels, either.

 

Vampires had a cold indifference to wealth; even when sitting atop mountains of treasure, they treated it like dust.

 

Right in the middle of negotiations, Shui Que’s stomach betrayed him and growled.

 

“Grrr.”

 

He pressed his lips together, quickly lifting his eyes to say first, “Are you hungry? I heard your stomach growling.”

 

The flute player failed to catch the hint. “No, that was…”

 

Their conversation was cut off as the magician lifted the curtain.

 

Understanding the situation, he said kindly, “It’s time for breakfast. I found a spare toothbrush.”

 

A white object was tossed to the flute player—it was made from white horsehair.

 

“All right, go brush and wash your little brat godchild,” the magician said. “Though those fools aren’t much use, they’ve at least started making breakfast.”

 

The carriage was parked in the forest, on a relatively flat patch of land near a river.

 

Below the hanging pot, a campfire crackled as semi-dry firewood burned with pops and snaps, sending curling gray smoke into the air.

 

The grain porridge in the pot was bubbling steadily.

 

While brushing and washing, the flute player pinched Shui Que’s cheeks so he couldn’t struggle, being extra careful to tend to that one fully grown little fang.

 

The magician gave a passing glance. “Looks like this little brat’s development isn’t bad.”

 

Even though there was only one fang, it was fully formed.

 

The flute player replied, “Mm.”

 

After letting Shui Que rinse, he stuffed a bit of cardamom and clove into his wet red mouth. “Chew.”

 

These mixed spices were also used for dental hygiene.

 

Because fangs were important, vampires paid special attention to oral health.

 

Shui Que obediently chewed, then spit it out.

 

The flute player was satisfied and carried him over to sit by the campfire.

 

Two wooden bowls filled with grain porridge were handed over by the apprentices.

 

The flute player could go long periods without eating. If he got hungry, he would hunt wild animals in the mountains.

 

He was a rare vegetarian vampire—which meant he didn’t drink human blood.

 

To keep up appearances in front of the human apprentices, he took a small sip of porridge and set the bowl down.

 

Then he used a spoon to scoop up warm porridge and brought it to Shui Que’s lips.

 

Being a quarter-vampire hybrid, he should be able to handle grains and cereals.

 

Shui Que took a spoonful and immediately made a face.

 

It tasted awful.

 

The coarse porridge, made without any seasoning, left him unsure if he had bitten into unhulled grain husks.

 

He quietly spat twice.

 

The flute player came to a realization—this boy must be a vegetarian vampire like himself.

 

The performer had gone who knows where, the magician was fishing by the river in the distance, and the apprentices could only make inedible grain porridge.

 

Ashes danced in the fire from the wood.

 

The flute player had no one competent to delegate to.

 

He carried Shui Que back to the last section of the carriage and placed him on the soft mat. “I’m going hunting. I’ll be back soon.”

 

He used a term that sounded distinctly animalistic.

 

Hunting?

 

Shui Que noticed he didn’t take any bow or arrows when he left.

 

He couldn’t figure out what strange metaphor the other was using—circus folk spoke in bizarre ways.

 

Still unaware of his true background, Shui Que wondered if he had been kidnapped because of a bounty or perhaps to be made an apprentice in the circus.

 

But if they wanted an apprentice, they should’ve gone after a more agile child.

 

He patted the dust off his pants. Some ash had fallen on the tops of his feet while eating earlier.

 

Pressing his lips together, Shui Que glanced around the long carriage. It was empty.

 

He quietly tugged down the flute player’s cloak from where it hung on the wall.

 

He was quite flexible—bending forward, he pinched the cloak in hand and carefully wiped the tops of his feet.

 

The ashes were gone.

 

His feet looked clean again.

 

Shui Que glanced left and right, then pushed the cloak onto the floor beneath the wooden hook, pretending it had fallen from the wind.

 

They were kidnappers anyway. What’s the big deal about using their cloak to wipe his feet?

 

The wind stirred the curtain on the carriage wall, and sunlight spilled through.

 

Rustle rustle—the sound of several people’s heels stepping on grass.

 

“Are you sure you weren’t seeing things? That’s really the Count’s young master?”

 

“Of course! What, do you think the flute player pulled a kid this age out of thin air overnight?”

 

“I thought I was still drunk and seeing things…”

 

“Did you drink my malt wine from my leather pouch, you damn rat?!”

 

Voices clashed noisily as Shui Que braced himself with his hands and shrank back, hiding in the corner of the carriage.

 

This last section of the carriage had been left unlocked when they exited in the morning. The door stood wide open.

 

Several young apprentices gathered around, eyes shifty and thieving.

 

They paid no mind to the child’s age, speaking freely in front of him.

 

“It really is him! What the hell is the flute player up to?”

 

“Holy crap—is he planning to use this for ransom? Threaten Count Louis?”

 

The noble young master, covered in gold and preciousness, usually wore clothes made from the fur of rare animals like silver squirrels or white ermines. One of them, noticing the fine fabric, reached out to touch it.

 

His fingers were dirty with ash, mud, and grass stems.

 

Shui Que had already backed into the very corner, his brows tightly knit. He said in a muffled, angry voice, “Go away!”

 

Still, the filthy fingers touched his pant leg, and bits of mud and stems stuck to his ankle.

 

“What’s wrong with touching you?” the boy provoked boldly.

 

One of them rolled his eyes mischievously.

 

“Why not just sell him to a duke in another kingdom? I heard the nobles in Baria like this kind of thing. A duke’s richer than a count, after all…”

 

Another apprentice laughed. “You’re really a piece of work!”

 

The one who suggested it shrugged. “I’ve never claimed to be decent.”

 

Shui Que’s face had turned pale from fear.

 

The magician had been silently watching from the shade beneath the trees for a while now, his gaze indifferent—far from the courteous, refined gentleman he pretended to be yesterday.

 

Then, Shui Que’s eyes locked with his.

 

Perhaps because they had spoken briefly the day before, he naively believed the magician was a good person?

 

He looked at him with a pleading expression.

 

Like a lamb just learning to cross a river, stepping gingerly into the water, letting out a pitiful bleat.

 

The magician hated the heroes of puppet shows—the dragon-slayers and holy knights. Those fake, hollow saviors, lifted onto the stage, worshipped like gods.

 

Even so, he still drove away the scoundrels surrounding the young master.

 

The magician raised a hand. With a hollow resonance, he snapped his fingers.

 

Several young apprentices had vanished, leaving behind only squeaking black rats dragging their long tails.

 

The magician lowered his gaze, lips curved in a gentle smile as he offered them a choice. “The circus has no need for fools. Would you rather wait for the flute player to return and throw yourselves into the river then, or go with the current now?”

 

The river surged, crashing against rocks, the currents crisscrossing. A few dark shadows slipped into the water, and the flow swiftly gathered into a howling torrent, rushing forward in a crystal-clear roar.

 

It looked like a scene straight out of a fairytale reenactment.

 

If this had been during a traveling performance, there would likely have been many children watching in awe, chirping excitedly as they surrounded the magician, hoping to be lucky enough to become an apprentice.

 

The magician looked at Shui Que.

 

The young master didn’t call out with innocent excitement like he had the day before.

 

He simply pressed his lips together and pointed to his ankle.

 

There were bits of grass and half-dried mud stuck to it.

 

Shui Que said quietly, “It’s dirty.”

 

His lashes trembled slightly, but he still looked up at the magician.

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Huge shoutout to @candycorns2 on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.

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