Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1454 (Second Update)

"I'm so glad they followed the ancient customs of hospitality."

Winston carried his snow-soaked winter coat and boots covered in snow powder and mud. Facing the closed bedroom door, he stood in the small sitting room of the guest room, using different brushes to clean the dirt off the clothes before placing them in the laundry basket prepared by the android maids. Beside Winston lay many different kinds of shoes, mostly snow boots, combat boots, and sneakers; there were only two pairs of high heels, the tags still attached. These were one of the gifts from the mistress of the manor, to prevent Laura Crawford from being ridiculed by the London tabloids again for inappropriate attire on certain occasions.

The ample heating caused the snowflakes on the windowpane to melt and then freeze again.

During the Industrial Revolution in 19th and 20th century Britain, when a nobleman who did not need to work was invited by someone of similar social standing to stay at the manor, the stay could be quite long. Generally, such invitations were issued during the London social season and lasted until the following season. Invited nobles were mostly related to the manor owner by blood. Male nobles might only stay for a few weeks before returning to the manor to handle affairs, while female nobles might stay for months or even a year. Therefore, entertaining guests at the manor was a very lengthy process, severely testing the mental fortitude of the manor owner and his servants.

“It’s still a bit too dangerous for me.” Winston slowly brushed the mud off his snow boots. He saw that the estate’s landscaping was indeed laid out according to his advice, but his military experience instincts warned him that explosives might be buried somewhere. “You too, Laura.”

"It's impolite to talk about the estate owners behind their backs, Winston, and I trust their level of security management when it comes to weapons," Laura Crawford's muffled voice came from the bedroom. She had just come out of the bathroom, washing away the scent of wild animals. She had petted the bear cubs and sheep, Pegasus and the hounds in the stable, and visited a family of otters soaking in the hot springs, getting herself all dirty, just like Milia who later came to play with her. She dried her hair, changed into a comfortable sports bra, put on her workout clothes, and prepared to head out.

"He funded all my adventures and saved me from many dangers," Laura Crawford said, her dry ponytail swaying as she emerged from the bedroom, her cheeks flushed. She was quite pleased with the wildlife tour she'd participated in that morning, and if she could, she'd like to see the other animals on the estate. "If you've seen what I've seen, you'll know that weapons are a necessity. It's surprising they haven't put tanks or missile launchers on the estate! He's an adventurer, they're witches, nothing's surprising here!"

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were tanks in this estate,” Winston muttered, looking down. “I mean, height. When I was young, I read about giants in the newspapers, but without exception, they all suffered from endocrine disorders, intellectual disabilities, and were plagued by illness; even standing was difficult for them. Maybe there are exceptions, like the giant Native American remains unearthed near San Francisco over a hundred years ago. But the people here are different. They are very healthy, very strong, and very handsome. And the master of the house, he has a special charm that is dangerous to both men and women…”

The old man took a deep breath and tried his best to describe his feelings.

“Men would want to risk their lives for him, women would want to be held in his arms.” He half-opened his eyes, absentmindedly brushing his boots. “When I saw him, I felt decades younger, back to the age when I could fight with a rifle. I’ve seen a few people with that kind of charisma, like the Queen, like President Roosevelt. Laura, you’re young and beautiful, but…” Winston was speechless for a moment. He had never seen anyone with such a strong presence. Even without seeing the manor owner, his existence was like a huge, invisible animal that occupied this land. His soul could hear the breath and heat of this huge animal, hear the heavy footsteps, feel the hot breath, but he couldn’t see any trace of it.

It was a supernatural feeling; for an elderly man with poor sleep quality, last night's sleep had been nothing short of torture. Although Diana had prepared a luxurious guest room for him instead of a servant's room, and all the amenities were up to guest standards, Winston was still awakened from his dream by the unusual events that had occurred at the manor the previous night.

"Like a dragon," Winston said haltingly, as if his thoughts were stuck in a quagmire, "supernatural, mysterious."

Laura naturally understood what Winston meant, and she could also analyze the source of this feeling from a scientific perspective; he wasn't the only one who had nightmares last night. Before the advent of perspective, most paintings used the "frontal law" method, similar to ancient Egyptian murals, to depict scenes. However, the Akkadian-Sibir stele from over 2000 years ago employed a complex narrative technique, depicting King Naram-Sin as extremely tall, thus showcasing divinity and monarchical authority. But when such a situation occurred in reality rather than in a work of art, ordinary people could more clearly and intuitively feel the majesty of a tall, charismatic figure.

For Winston, his greater concern was that Laura would become hopelessly infatuated with the strange charm of the manor's owners, much like Oliver Haddough, the mysterious and dangerously alluring character described by Maugham in *The Wizard*. He worried that Laura Crawford would be unwilling to leave because of the pleasures here, forgetting Crawford Estate and her own career. However, before he could clearly express his true concerns, he raised an eyebrow in surprise at Laura Crawford's attire. He instantly regained his composure, and his speech became fluent, as if Laura Crawford's clothing had pulled his consciousness from an indescribable abyss.

“If I had to judge, Laura,” Winston said, slowly rising to his feet with his cane. It wasn’t a smooth process; Laura stepped forward to help him, having acted as both father and teacher to Richard Crawford during her grief. “I don’t think you can attend a breakfast meeting dressed in a sweater and tracksuit with a messy ponytail.”

Laura Crawford wasn't bothered by Winston's unusual behavior; after all, he was quite old and had difficulty walking.

“Believe me, they don’t care about such trivialities. They value wisdom. Even a vagrant will be treated well if he has wisdom.” Laura Crawford shrugged. “Before you came, I would just go to breakfast in a shirt. Nobody cares about that, Winston. They don’t need guests to please themselves with their clothes. True nobility lies in character, not clothing… Winston, you are also a guest of this manor. There’s no need for you to do these things.”

"When I came from the de Monet family to the Croft family, I swore an oath to your mother and father, Laura," Winston smiled, patting her arm with his wrinkled hand. "Stay here and recover for a while, at least until you begin your next journey."

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(End of this chapter)