Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 91

Chapter 91: The Child from the Pay-to-Win Parenting Game (8)

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The Castro Diocese was far more prosperous than Dockshire.


Tall square city walls encircled the area, built from stacked stone and brick. The walls were decorated with lavish frescoes, carved with the city’s guardian deities and the Holy Cross insignia.


The city guards let the merchants’ carriages through.

 

They had arrived just in time for the weekly Friday market. Concerned that the wealthy traveling fur traders might lose their way, the guards pointed them toward the market square.

 

At the front of the city hall was Burg Square.

 

The bustling heart of Castro’s commerce and trade. It was impossible to miss. As long as one followed the grain-laden mares and robed clergy with crosses around their necks into the city, there was no need to pay attention to the town criers shouting in the streets.

 

Farmers pushed carts full of eggs and cheese, all heading to Burg Square.


It was a massive, shell-shaped plaza that bordered the harbor. Ship masts swayed gently as cargo was constantly unloaded from the ships and carried to the warehouses by port workers.

 

The Guild Hall of the Woolen Cloth Guild was also located in Burg Square, right next to the towering city clock tower.

 

Their carriage passed through the square without lingering. The mole apprentice steered steadily through the crowd—this was the only skill for which the circus performers genuinely praised him. They’d even exaggerated, claiming he was a born carriage driver and had decided to keep him as the circus’s full-time coachman.

 

The intersection was filled with noisy laughter and shouting. The closer they got to South Street, the louder the apprentices from the inns and taverns became as they called out for business.

 

The circus needed to find a place to stay on South Street—not just for the humans to eat and rest, but more importantly, because the horses needed hay from the inn’s stables. The journey ahead was still long.

 

Shui Que had overheard an apprentice at the city gate earlier asking a passing Holy Court knight if he needed pies from the inn. The name of that inn was…

 

White Swan?

 

He lifted the curtain on the other side of the carriage. Both sides of the street were packed with closely built structures. Wooden beams from the houses blocked the sunlight, casting shadows across the street.

 

His eyes didn’t blink for a second as he scanned the hanging signs of the buildings. Literacy wasn’t widespread in this era, so most shops used round signboards to indicate what they sold or as a symbol of their business.

 

Shui Que had rarely left the castle in Dockshire, but he remembered Count Louis once mentioning that innkeepers hung floral wreaths on the doorposts of their establishments.

 

Up ahead, he saw three or four houses with wreaths hanging by their doors. One of the signs had a painting of a swan.

 

Shui Que tugged on the flute player’s sleeve and pointed to the sign of that inn.

 

The flute player understood immediately. “Stay here?”

 

Shui Que nodded.

 

The magician had cast a spell on him to prevent him from speaking while outside, a precaution to stop him from running away. As a result, he could now only communicate with the flute player through gestures and eye contact.

 

The carriage was guided into the back courtyard of the White Swan Inn. An apprentice stablehand came out to greet them.

 

The flute player carried Shui Que down from the carriage. His gold velvet skirt was voluminous and elaborate. As the main door swung open, a little bell chimed softly. When they stepped into the public hall on the ground floor, all eyes turned toward them.

 

It was an odd-looking group of travelers: two traveling merchants, a servant, and a pretty girl.

 

Ah, perhaps she couldn’t walk—no wonder she had to be carried.

 

Someone glanced at Shui Que with pity.

 

The grueling lifestyle of a traveling merchant—how could someone so delicate endure that?

 

Too many curious stares made Shui Que uncomfortable. He nervously tugged at the brim of his wide hat.

 

One side of the hall held the reception counter made of wood. The wall cabinets behind it displayed silver-plated drinking vessels and various wines. On the other side was the kitchen, where the sound of butchering beef on the chopping block echoed.

 

Between Dockshire and Castro Diocese stretched a dense forest. Even by carriage, the journey had taken a fair amount of time. By the time they arrived at the inn, it was already near evening.

 

The shutters were open, and the golden light of dusk streamed in. Many people crowded around the central fireplace, eating meat and drinking, sweating profusely.

 

In a quieter corner were several private dining tables. The flute player set Shui Que down there and carefully straightened the layers of his skirts.

 

The menu was scrawled on the wall with white chalk. The flute player had no interest in human food, but his godson was a hybrid—aside from his blood, he needed grains and other nourishment as well.

 

The flute player asked him, “What do you want to eat?”

 

Shui Que opened his mouth, then remembered he couldn’t speak. Realizing that, he started pointing to the items on the wall one by one.


With the idea of bankrupting the circus through sheer appetite, he practically pointed to every dish listed.

 

The flute player nodded.


Still growing, huh.

 

He walked over to the counter. The magician and the performer were already speaking with the innkeeper’s wife, who was also the hostess of the inn.

 

“Madam, may the Holy Spirit be with you,” the magician said with a gentle smile.


A black magic warlock calmly using a devout follower’s blessing as a greeting.

 

The innkeeper’s wife had a few gray strands in her hair but was still spry and quick. Her smile was warm. “Welcome, travelers. The White Swan Inn is honored to have you.”

 

The performer asked, “There are five of us. Do you have room for us tonight? Oh, and four horses—our coachman’s already taken them to the backyard stables.”

 

“Of course,” the hostess nodded. “We’re the best inn in Castro. All our rooms are clean and comfortable. We scent them daily with lavender and herbs—you’ll sleep like babies!”

 

“Five people, five rooms, yes?” she asked.

 

The flute player frowned. “Four rooms.”

 

“I’m afraid Alice would rather sleep alone. Don’t you think so?” The magician pulled off his black gloves and used a quill to sign a name on a slip of calfskin paper at the counter. Since he no longer remembered the name he had long abandoned, he wrote down the surname of a circus performer—Maverick.

 

Only one person needed to register.

 

The magician straightened up, lowered his voice so only the three of them could hear, and advised the flute player, “Even for a godfather and godson, it’s best to keep an appropriate distance. A young man’s mind is fragile.”

 

The flute player didn’t argue anymore and simply rubbed the bandage wrapped around his wrist.

 

Having convinced him, the magician turned to the innkeeper’s wife and said, “Please arrange five rooms for us, madam.”

 

“One night, with hay for four horses. Dinner’s separate…” The innkeeper’s wife calculated, “Three shillings and four pence. How’s that?”

 

That was equivalent to over two months’ wages for a common hired carpenter.

 

Coins clinked loudly as they dropped onto the wooden counter.

 

Even louder than the clinking of gold and silver was the bard’s outraged exclamation, full of frustration and fury.

 

Shui Que expressionlessly set down the wine jug, which he had nearly flung along with the malt beer.

 

The bard had no idea when the wine jug had appeared. Was it the sunlight in his eyes, blinding him as he stared at the beautiful young lady before him? Had he not even noticed whether there was a wine jug on the table?

 

Guan He, ever modest and unrecognized, said, “Good throw!”

 

This audacious bard had started spouting vulgar flirtations as soon as he arrived. Guan He couldn’t afford anything else, so he spent his Interstellar Coins on a jug of wine for Shui Que. The brass jug appeared silently on the table, looking sturdy and solid.

 

Shui Que pressed his lips together. He hadn’t originally intended such a dramatic reaction. He had planned to wait for the magician’s return and have him turn the bard into a mouse. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young knight entering through the back door. A clever idea struck him—if he caused enough of a scene, it might draw the knight’s attention.

 

The bard, now both angry and embarrassed, was stopped by a hand pressing down on his shoulder—heavy as iron tongs, strong enough to crush bones.

 

The upright young knight rebuked him, “That was extremely rude, sir.”

 

The bard grimaced in pain from the force on his shoulder.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shui Que saw the magician and the others heading toward them from the counter. He frantically gestured at Arred, nearly slipping from his chair.

 

Ared ignored the flirtatious bard and quickly caught Shui Que, who discreetly slipped a piece of smooth silk cloth into his hand.

 

The flute player’s brows knit together. He scooped Shui Que into his arms and held him tightly, his gaze cold and full of threat as he warned the two humans, “Don’t touch him with your filthy hands.”

 

His tone was like a hissing viper, sinister and venomous. He held Shui Que tightly, like a serpent coiling its tail around a soft fledgling, and turned to carry him upstairs.

 

Him?

 

Ared was stunned for two seconds.

 

He hesitated, then withdrew his supporting arm and clenched the silk handkerchief in his palm.

 

The magician gave the bard a once-over and spoke in a slow voice, “Sir, I believe that was just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”

 

His tone was much gentler than the flute player’s. The bard quickly nodded and explained, “Yes, yes, I just wanted to chat with that young lady about the lovely evening, that’s all.”

 

“Is that so…” The magician looked at him for a moment, lips curling into a faint smile. “Then I wish you a pleasant night.”

 

A black rat in the sewers would make the evening much livelier.

 

Once the performer saw both of them go upstairs, he turned back and hurriedly told the innkeeper’s wife, “Please send our dinner up to the rooms.”

 

As he held onto the ladder, he glanced back at the dazed knight of the Holy Court Knights standing in the hall. His apprentice was just bringing him a steak and mixed pie. The magician subtly cast a wary look his way before disappearing upstairs.

 

The show was over. Everyone in the tavern turned their attention back to their drinks.

 

The bard was nowhere to be seen.

 

Ared sat down where Shui Que had just been sitting.

 

The freshly baked steak and mixed pie steamed on the plate.

 

He lowered his head and opened the handkerchief. It had clearly been worn close to the owner’s body for some time, as it carried a sweet, rich scent that was hard to describe. It reminded Ared of wild berries in bushes, lily bulbs, and the purple gentian flowers that lined the valleys when he escorted pilgrims in the autumn.

 

Sensing something unusual, he noticed the silk handkerchief was a bit too thick. When he unfolded the square, a piece of calfskin paper inside was revealed. He examined it carefully, and his eyes narrowed with realization.

 

…………

 

Dinner was sumptuous: cheese, egg tarts, wheat cakes, pasta, roasted cod, fried apple slices…

 

Shui Que had deliberately ordered too much, but in the end, he only ate some tart and fish, then some apple slices. The rest was shared among the others.

 

For vampires, such food was more like snacks.

 

The flute player cut open a freshly healed wound. Shui Que swallowed nervously, but still ate the “main course.”

 

He had originally planned to go the non-violent, non-cooperative route to resist him to the end.

 

But he had to admit…

 

The allure of blood really did surpass normal food.

 

After eating, Shui Que licked his lips. As the suppression magic wore off, he politely thanked the “meal.” “Thank you… Godfather.”

 

He wasn’t quite sure how to address the flute player.

 

But since he had drunk his blood, he reluctantly accepted the godfather-godson dynamic the other had insisted on earlier.

 

【Character Shui Que consumed fresh blood. Mood +1】


【Evil Tendency +1. Current: Evil 7, Good 3】

 

Guan He weakly advised, “Don’t drink blood from unfamiliar vampires…”

 

But Shui Que couldn’t hear him. Oblivious, he subconsciously licked the crimson at the corner of his lips. His fangs had fully formed, still stained with traces of blood.

 

He already looked like a fledgling little vampire leaning toward evil.

 

After washing up, the flute player tucked him in carefully. The mattress and blankets were down-filled, soft and fluffy.

 

“Can you sleep alone?”

 

He asked in a calm tone, as if Shui Que was a cub who couldn’t fall asleep without an adult nearby.

 

Shui Que blinked and replied honestly, “I’ve slept alone since I was six.”

 

The flute player didn’t want to seem too stern, but still frowned. “Forget your human father, in the mortal sense.”

 

He hadn’t even remained faithful to his vampire partner, letting his remarried wife bring two freeloading brothers into the castle.

 

Seeing Shui Que had been unhappy the entire journey, the flute player asked, “Isn’t it good to come with me to the Weiss Mountains? I have a castle too—larger than the Louis family’s.”

 

At the snowy mountain peak stood a palace of ice and snow, filled with treasures. Its size was over three times that of the Louis estate.

 

A vampire fledgling needed to learn from him—how to attack enemies, how to use and maintain fangs, how to resist holy magic.

 

All of these should be done without interference from the Holy Church.

 

Wouldn’t that essentially make the flute player his guardian?

 

Shui Que shook his head.

 

He couldn’t just sideline the male lead this early. The game had barely started—he hadn’t even given the male lead a truly terrible experience yet.

 

Although, the current experience wasn’t great either.

 

The male lead couldn’t show up last night because of outsiders, so he had to communicate with Shui Que from afar, planning how to escape today.

 

If they encountered knights or soldiers, they’d have to find ways to leave clues. At night, they’d need to send the others away to give the guardian spirit a chance to appear and secretly carry Shui Que out.

 

Shui Que clutched the edge of the blanket, lying cozily in the warm bed, and softly urged the flute player, “I’m going to sleep now. You go out—make sure to close the door behind you.”

 

The flute player asked, “Do you want me to play the flute to lull you to sleep?”

 

He meant a regular lullaby, without any magical effect.

 

Shui Que thought he was going to play the sleep-inducing melody again and immediately covered his ears, turning his back to the flute player. “No need!”

 

The flute player put away his flute and closed the heavy oak door as he left.

 

…

 

That night, a team of scout knights with hounds and hawks silently surrounded the inn.

 

There was a curfew in the Castro Diocese, and the city breathed in quiet stillness.

 

The spirit form of the guardian descended into the bedroom.

 

Guan He locked the door behind him and walked over to the bed, intending to wake Shui Que.

 

The inn was entirely made of wood, with poor sound insulation. Guan He was worried about disturbing the flute player and the magician in the next room, so he kept his voice low: “Shui Que, Shui Que…”

 

Perhaps from the fatigue of travel, the person in bed simply turned over. His sleeping face was peaceful, soft pink-and-white cheeks squished against the down pillow.

 

Guan He called him several times, but he still hadn’t woken.

 

The Overseer spoke in Shui Que’s mind: 【…Baby.】

 

Overseer 10 knew that his colleague always called Shui Que that.

 

As if sensing something, Shui Que’s thin eyelids trembled slightly.

 

【Baby.】

 

10 repeated it again.

 

Still that emotionless, mechanical voice typical of an artificial human—

 

Even though this word was supposed to be full of affection.

 

Shui Que slowly opened his eyes. “Mm…?”

 

He had long grown used to being called that by others. Even in sleep, he didn’t react to his own name—but when someone called him “baby,” he woke right up.

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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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