Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1291: Vast Nightfall

At eight o’clock in the evening, the prime minister’s car sped out toward the suburbs.

Amid vast stretches of farmland and wasteland, the armored vehicle stopped before a hill. The ground ahead suddenly rose, revealing a massive steel plate covered with soil and grass. The plate tilted open, forming a special entrance.

The armored car drove inside. Not far ahead stood a stone mountain.

After going underground, lights illuminated a straight asphalt road. About two hundred meters in, a huge gate appeared. When it opened, what came into view was a gigantic dock built within the mountain.

Inside was a single small aircraft about thirty meters long, shaped like a fighter jet. The entire dock seemed designed solely to service this special aircraft.

More than a dozen maintenance workers in gray uniforms and caps were busy working on the massive aircraft. The armored car finally stopped beside a side entrance.

The prime minister hurried out of the car as someone came to greet him.

He merely nodded, his expression dark, and strode quickly inside. The man who had come to receive him wore a star-adorned military uniform—his rank was clearly not low.

“Is it ready?” the prime minister asked, his pace quickening.

The officer beside him hurried to keep up and replied rapidly, “Preparation began thirty minutes after we received your call. We’re still in the adjustment phase. It will take about another hour to reach optimal values.”“An hour is too long. Shorten it as much as possible,” the prime minister said with a frown. “The ones who abducted the Queen aren’t human. That bunch of old fogeys at the Knight Bureau just stood by and watched her be taken! That bastard Perkins even told me he hadn’t anticipated it. They’re unreliable—we can only rely on ourselves.”

As he spoke, he and the officer entered an elevator and soon arrived at a control room that overlooked the entire dock. Everyone inside stood and saluted the prime minister.

“Get back to work,” he waved, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves as he accepted a headset. “Switch the screens to the adjustment chamber. I want to see how our warriors are doing.”

“Yes, sir!”

At the front console, a woman in military uniform typed rapidly. Soon, a set of images appeared on the screen.

They showed the adjustment chamber.

Twenty machines—resembling giant gaming pods or CT scanners—were arranged neatly in a vast, empty hall. Inside each lay a young person wearing tight-fitting combat suits, male and female alike.

They all looked very young, around twenty years old.

“Beautiful,” the prime minister said as he watched. “This is our own power… The Fianna. It’s time to show this strength to those arrogant, self-important knights.”

“Prime Minister,” the officer said cautiously, “even if the unit is fully adjusted, we still don’t know where the Queen is being held.”

“That’s fine. I can locate her,” the prime minister replied confidently. “Once this crisis is over, matters of the nonhuman world will no longer be the Knight Bureau’s monopoly. Ancient glory? Those old conservatives who’ve controlled us for so long—it’s about time they considered retirement.”

As he spoke, he took out a small black box about the size of a cigarette case and handed it to the officer. “Use this to trace the signal source. It’ll help us lock onto the correct location.”

“This is…?” The officer froze, as if realizing something.

Had the prime minister secretly been tracking the Queen’s movements all along—installing a tracker on her?

“Not her,” the prime minister waved dismissively. “Don’t overthink it. Just do as I say. I don’t care whether it’s Doomsday Myth or Tomorrow Myth—before sunrise tomorrow, I want those thugs never to see dawn again.”

The officer snapped to attention and saluted.

…

…

“Good, good. Such a good little one… judging by its fur, Her Majesty really took good care of you.”

In the room, the long-bearded yet powerfully built Judas was cradling a tiny animal and teasing it affectionately—it was none other than the Queen’s pet.

Only Tipu, the expelled apprentice alchemist, was present. The bespectacled, gaunt man stared gloomily at the little creature cuddling in Judas’s arms without any fear of strangers and frowned. “Judas, since when did you become so loving?”

Judas glanced at Tipu and replied casually, “I’m actually just like you.”

“Like me?” Tipu blinked.

Judas watched as Tipu sat at the table organizing bottles, jars, and tools. “Alchemists need to prepare all these tools for battle. Every time, nothing can go wrong, right?”

“That’s common sense,” Tipu nodded.

“I’m different,” Judas said calmly. “I fight with my fists. So I just need to keep my mind calm… this helps me do that.”

“Or is it because you’re a cat-loving litter-scooper at heart?” Tipu sneered. “At least take out your knuckle-dusters and wipe them down so I feel like you’re actually preparing for battle.”

“Why are you so tense?” Judas shook his head. “Tomorrow is important, sure, but we’ve faced life and death before. Is it because you were shaken by that female alchemist at the theater?”

Tipu’s anger back then—even revealing himself—had a reason. It stemmed from his past. During the Magicians’ Association alchemist certification exam, he had been falsely accused of cheating, accidentally injured an examiner, and was permanently stripped of his qualification to become an alchemist.

Being casually told at the theater that he wasn’t even fit to be an alchemist’s apprentice naturally stabbed at an old wound. How could he endure it?

“Hmph…” Tipu frowned. “If she shows herself again, I’ll make her taste the power of my ten secret concoctions.”

“I’d advise you not to stir up trouble,” Judas said, shaking his head. “From what happened at the theater, that man and woman didn’t seem interested in us. Tipu, the world is vast. The leader is strong, but there are definitely those stronger than him. You saw that invisible barrier, didn’t you? Even the leader’s full-force punch couldn’t break it—he hurt himself instead.”

“Maybe it’s just strong defense,” Tipu snorted. “Defense-type tools are everywhere. Doesn’t the Magicians’ Association have the so-called ‘Absolute Defense,’ the Sevenfold Seraphic Circle? And I’ve heard the thirteen vampire clans secretly possess Crimson Glory, said to have been used by the progenitor Cain—also a divine artifact that physical attacks can’t break.”

Judas gave a wry smile. “Come on. Those are either legendary artifacts or priceless treasures. If we ran into something like that so easily, I’d buy a lottery ticket before sunrise—might even win. Then even if we fail tomorrow, I could retire in comfort.”

“Spineless old man!”

“Brat.”

In truth, Tipu wasn’t old at all. Though he looked middle-aged, it was only because years of handling alchemical substances had left toxins in his body, making him appear far older than he should. In reality, Tipu was only seventeen.

Once hailed in the world of magic as the most gifted prodigy in a century—yes, he was truly only seventeen.

Bickering… was probably another way to relax.

Outside, the sound of a harmonica suddenly drifted through the air… Beneath a tree, Caesar sat on the grass playing the harmonica, while Catherine leaned against him.

They watched the moonlight and the clouds of the night sky.

…

When Lancelot woke up, her lips felt damp. She realized she was lying on the ground, with a coat spread beneath her.

It was the one the Queen had been wearing.

At that moment, the Queen was moistening her lips with a damp handkerchief… and Lancelot was even resting on the Queen’s lap.

“Your Majesty… how could you—” Lancelot struggled to sit up.

The Queen pressed her down gently and blinked. “Look, child. You don’t even have as much strength as this old woman now. Why insist on forcing yourself?”

“But—” Lancelot opened her mouth.

The Queen smiled. “When I was young, I took part in a war. I was only in a women’s support unit, but I do have some experience caring for the wounded… though I’m a bit rusty after all these years. Your right arm looks badly fractured. Was it caused by them? I could only fix it roughly—conditions here are too limited.”

Lancelot laboriously lifted her arm. Two wooden slats were bound to it with cloth strips—clearly pried off from a wooden chair.

“No…” Lancelot shook her head.

The fracture had happened earlier… a day ago. With her right hand holding Indestructible Lake Light, she had taken a full-force strike from the legendary strongest Grand Knight Farrell. Not only was the sword shattered, the shock alone had broken the bones in her arm.

Thinking of Indestructible Lake Light led her to the loss of her inherited power, and her eyes dimmed.

“It seems,” the Queen said softly as she looked down at her, “that where I couldn’t see, you’ve truly been fighting very hard.”

“I… I’ve lost the power of a knight.”

The Queen gently covered Lancelot’s eyes with her palm and spoke slowly. “The darkness you see now is only temporary. When I remove my hand, light will appear before you again. But I don’t want it to appear just yet. Do you know why?”

“Why…” Lancelot asked instinctively.

“Because darkness lets you calm down,” the Queen said. “You don’t have to see your own weakness… so you can cry as much as you want. But when the light returns, you must be ready, child.”

Lancelot said nothing.

Only the Queen could feel the dampness spreading in her palm.

Just then, faint music drifted in from outside the stone chamber—a harmonica. The Queen recognized it.

Her left hand still covered Lancelot’s eyes, while in her right hand she held something—a black card.

It was given to her at the theater, when she last met that respectable yet terrifying teacher from long ago.

Little Elizabeth, if you encounter something you can’t solve, make a wish to this card. Your teacher will appear. Of course, you’ll have to give up something precious in return.

“Teacher…”

The Queen fell into deep thought.

…

…

When they left another theater, it was already a little past eight in the evening. They hadn’t seen all of Turandot, but the club’s Boss and the maid duo had successfully watched the famous The Phantom of the Opera.

The weather this month was still bitterly cold on the streets of Foggy City.

Many pedestrians were wrapped in coats, moving forward against the wind—though for Boss Luo and Miss Maid, cold held no real meaning.

Miss Maid looked elegant today… though perhaps a bit too lightly dressed.

“Master?”

Suddenly, Miss Maid felt cold—a truly physical chill, one she hadn’t experienced since the days when her human body was weak.

In this world, the only one who could make her feel this way without her noticing was her master.

“I suddenly realized that the stronger you are, the more interesting sensations you lose,” Luo Qiu said with a smile. He took Miss Maid’s hands and held them to his lips, breathing warm air onto them.

He gently rubbed them to share the warmth.

“Like this,” Luo Qiu said with a grin. “Do you think I’m being too cruel?”

“You could… be even crueler to me.”

Luo Qiu smiled without replying. He took off his coat and draped it over Miss Maid’s shoulders. It was a bit loose, but scenes like this were common enough on the street.

Lovers deeply in love all looked about the same.

The street was lively. Wearing her master’s coat, Miss Maid leaned against Luo Qiu, handbag in hand, walking quietly with her head lowered.

Then they stopped in front of a group of street performers.

It was a band playing on the street. Boss Luo stopped because he saw a former customer.

“So it’s Mr. Cheng. Has he come here to study music?” Miss Maid said with mild surprise.

It was the Eastern young man holding a guitar, singing as he played. Wearing a cap, he performed remember-me amid the crowd.

Luo Qiu smiled softly. “He’s found something of his own now.”

(End of Chapter)