Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1287: The Knight and the Boss

Winter, 1936.

The Duke of York—now King—was staying at Balmoral Castle with his wife and their two daughters, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret, taking refuge from the Second World War raging across the world.

At this time, Princess Elizabeth was only thirteen years old.

The Duke of York was reading the newspaper in his hands.

After a long, silent breakfast, the young and still-childish Princess Elizabeth suddenly spoke up.

“Father, are we just going to hide here and do nothing?”

Hearing this, the Duchess—now Queen—shot her a warning look. But it did not stop the young princess.

“Our people are sacrificing themselves on the continent across the ocean, while we sit here in this castle enjoying the warmth of the fireplace…”

“Elizabeth,” the Queen said more sternly, “don’t add to your father’s worries.”

Her tone was severe. The young princess could only lower her head unwillingly. As for the even younger Princess Margaret, she simply hugged her doll and watched the scene in fear.“Then I’ll return to my room,” Princess Elizabeth said, standing up and leaving directly.

“Elizabeth, have you forgotten the etiquette a royal should observe?” the Queen frowned.

Calmly, the princess replied, “Mother, what I want to learn is fencing, horsemanship, and strategy—not studying Shakespeare’s words!”

“You—” The Queen was clearly furious.

At that moment, the newly crowned king, who had remained silent, finally spoke. He set down the newspaper and said slowly,

“Elizabeth, you are of school age now. Given the current circumstances, I have specially hired a private tutor for you. Go—your teacher is waiting in the study. I hope you will receive your new tutor with the manners befitting a royal princess.”

“I don’t need a private tutor, Father!”

“This is an order. This teacher will guide you toward becoming someone of worth,” the king said, his expression complex as he looked at his eldest daughter. “You will never know what price I paid to hire this teacher for you. Cherish this opportunity. This teacher will change your life—if you do not wish to live it in mediocrity.”

…

Though her resistance nearly overcame her obedience to paternal authority, under her mother’s pressure the young princess ultimately gave in. Unwillingly, she arrived at the study door.

She had no expectations of this supposedly formidable tutor. She was already thinking of ways to make the person give up.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the study door with both hands and loudly declared,

“Where is the new private tutor?”

As she spoke, she surveyed the room. In her imagination, the tutor should have been a refined man with glasses, or perhaps a learned scholar—someone worthy of being hired by her father.

But standing before her was not a literary man at all, but a young woman.

Golden hair, deep blue eyes, a faint smile playing at her lips.

“Y-you’re my private tutor?”

The beautiful young woman did not answer. Instead, she casually picked up a heavy fencing sword from the desk and tossed it directly at the princess.

Flustered, the princess caught it. Before she could react, the blonde woman picked up an identical sword and said calmly,

“Ten minutes. If you can touch any part of my clothing—even once—I will leave immediately. How about it?”

Heavens… the princess did not even know how the woman had conjured two fencing swords inside the study.

But that did not matter. What mattered was that fencing was something she loved.

“Don’t think about calling for help,” the princess said, her eyes instantly sharpening.

…

…

The memory flashed by in an instant, spanning long decades.

The now-elderly Queen reached up and touched her cheek—cold, damp.

“Little Elizabeth, it’s been a long time…”

“R-really… it’s you, Teacher You Ye?”

Step by step, the Queen approached.

“All these years… am I truly seeing you again? But why haven’t you changed at all, while I… am no longer young? Please tell me this isn’t a dream…”

Overwhelmed by excitement and joy, the aged Queen reached out, wanting to cup the face untouched by time, her hands trembling.

It should have been a deeply moving reunion. For the Queen, the joy of this moment rivaled even the victory of the great war decades ago.

The beautiful woman who had changed her life.

“Did I give you permission to touch me, Elizabeth?”

Those deep blue eyes—just as unfathomable as she remembered.

The cold words snapped the Queen awake. Yet an instinctive fear made her shudder—a Queen who had faced countless world leaders without flinching.

The sword had been heavy. As a child, she had endured unimaginable hardship. The instructor’s rod had been just as merciless, like a nightmare she never forgot—even after becoming Queen.

But it also brought her fully back to herself. She was no longer the ignorant little girl of the past.

“Why… why does your appearance—”

“You are now a Queen and you know of the Knight Bureau. Knowing of the extraordinary forces in this world, can you truly not understand?”

The Queen opened her mouth. It was a possibility she had never considered.

She needed time to process it. The room fell silent.

…

“Miss Lancelot, how old are you this year?”

In her memory, this was the first time she had ever been asked such a question—at least, asked so directly.

There was no need to answer, she thought.

“Twenty-five.”

In that instant, her gaze changed. She keenly caught the disconnect between thought and speech.

Lancelot’s eyes turned sharp. A dagger slid from her sleeve.

In a blur, she appeared behind Boss Luo. The dagger crossed over his shoulder and rested at his throat as her cold voice rang out.

“What did you do to me?”

“I think I merely asked a question,” Luo Qiu said calmly.

Even that dagger—no matter how sharp—could not cut his skin. Whether it could even complete the motion was uncertain.

And even if one day a blade truly pierced his body, he would be reborn in the Club. Death was something he had already experienced.

“Don’t play tricks,” Lancelot said icily, the dagger still pressed against him.

Luo Qiu smiled lightly.

“How strange. If I truly made you feel threatened, shouldn’t your priority be what’s happening inside the room? After all, the person you must protect is inside, along with my companion—the source of that threat. Shouldn’t ensuring the protected person’s safety come first?”

Choose.

Abandon control of the current target to check on the Queen, or maintain control and risk her safety.

She made her decision quickly.

“If, inside, your companion really has already threatened my employer’s safety, then right now I should be even less willing to let you go… At the very least, by keeping you under control, both sides would still be standing on the same starting line. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s true.”

What surprised Lancelot was his agreement—and even more unbelievable was that he seemed certain she would not strike. He calmly turned around.

The dagger that had been pressed against his neck now had its tip pointed directly at his throat.

“Twenty-five years…” Luo Qiu said casually. “That’s actually longer than my own life so far. Miss Lancelot, in those twenty-five years, do you have any memories worth recalling and cherishing?”

She frowned. This was the second strange question.

“I don’t think whether my memories are worth cherishing is any of your concern. You should worry about yourself instead.” She chose her usual approach—action.

Naturally, to avoid making things worse, she did not intend to kill him. At the very least, she only wanted to silence him.

The throat was lethal, so she avoided it. Instead—perhaps the shoulder or the thigh would be good targets, enough to impair his mobility.

The thought lasted only an instant, and her body moved almost in sync with it. The moment she decided, Lancelot flicked her wrist, and the dagger stabbed toward his shoulder—right at the shoulder blade.

It should have happened that way.

But the dagger did not move at all.

It was as if it had struck an invisible wall—completely fixed in place, like a screw tightened to the limit—frozen in midair.

Lancelot was startled. She released the dagger and instinctively retreated—but her body would not move either.

The dagger hung there, suspended in the air, between her and Luo Qiu.

Luo Qiu glanced at Lancelot, then reached out and “plucked” the dagger from the air, turning it in his hand.

“For now, I won’t pose any danger to the person inside that room… including my companion.”

She did not believe him and did not lower her guard—at least, her eyes did not.

But the dagger in Luo Qiu’s hand began to melt. It completely liquefied into molten steel, then stretched, twisted, and reshaped itself… until it became a silver rose.

“If not, then start creating them from now on. If you already have such memories, I hope you cherish them well.” Luo Qiu handed the metal rose back to Lancelot—more precisely, he placed it into her half-clenched palm.

She could move again.

Lancelot’s body suddenly responded—yet at that very moment, the door opened. Miss Maid stepped out with a smile, while Her Majesty the Queen saw her off with visible deference—yes, deference.

“Go back, Elizabeth. Don’t ask too much about me… remember what I said.”

“Yes.” The Queen nodded.

She did not ask anything further—despite her curiosity about the man accompanying Teacher You Ye… and about why Lancelot was now holding a metal rose.

“No need to see us off,” Miss Maid added.

The Queen nodded again, her demeanor like that of an obedient student—something Lancelot found even more unbelievable than Farrell’s effortless defeat of her the night before.

Luo Qiu had no intention of speaking with the Queen. He simply nodded slightly. He bent his arm, and You Ye came to his side, linking her arm with his.

“Then the performance should be starting shortly. Please allow us to take our leave, Madam.”

That was Luo Qiu’s closing remark.

…

“Your Majesty, who exactly are they?”

Outside the door—the corridor was already empty of the mysterious pair—but the doubt in Lancelot’s heart only deepened. She began to question the strength she held as one of the Twelve Round Table.

First Farrell, and then…

Unexpectedly, the Queen shook her head.

“Lancelot, I hope you will not speak of today’s events to anyone… especially about her and me.”

Lancelot frowned.

But the Queen did not elaborate. She glanced once more at the metal rose in Lancelot’s hand and smiled.

“Oh… child, for the first time I feel that flowers actually suit you quite well. Perhaps you might consider wearing a lady’s gown instead—it would be better.”

Without waiting for an answer, the Queen chuckled softly and returned to her seat.

Lancelot stared at the metal rose in her hand, lost in thought.

…

In the corridor.

The Boss and his companion continued walking arm in arm.

“So this is what you meant by having already taken revenge.”

Boss Luo smiled faintly.

“It must have left quite a deep impression on Her Majesty’s childhood… I suddenly feel curious to see what you were like as a strict teacher.”

“It was simply the Duke of York’s request,” Miss Maid replied with a smile. “But as a private tutor, I suppose I did an adequate job.”

“The Maid of Orléans personally training a Queen of Britain… hmm.” Luo Qiu shook his head, unsure whose sense of mischief that really was.

Miss Maid offered no comment, only smiling as she said,

“Did Master enjoy chatting with No. 31?”

“I’d rather she wake up a bit later,” Luo Qiu mused. “After all, this time I didn’t come specifically to see her—running into her was just a coincidence. We’ll see… a Boss disturbing an employee’s vacation is likely to be resented.”

“Then we’ll simply cancel her next vacation,” Miss Maid said calmly.

Hey now…

(End of Chapter)