Chapter 93
“Are there artifacts in Haiman as well?”
Count Arthur, half-reclined with wine-stained lips, straightened his posture and wiped his mouth.
“Luto’s trading company also travels to Edith Tara. They’re not easy to acquire, though.”
Gray had been collecting artifacts since he was fourteen, spending every bit of his allowance on them.
And once he became Duke, nearly all the rare and expensive artifacts available in the capital had flowed straight into the Benton Duchy.
“But artifacts are only of use to magicians. Most of the relics kept in a lord’s castle are enchanted with ancestral spells, usable only by us. What use is it to gather so many?”
Gray had once met a witch and gone so far as to sign a contract with her—turning back time itself. Ever since, he had come to believe in the power of magic and the miracles it brought.
And as he went about acquiring artifacts, he found that many of them were surprisingly useful, even for someone without magical power.
“If you use mana stones, artifacts can be activated even without possessing magic. Most of what I own aren’t the type that require much skill or innate power. You’d be able to use them without trouble, Count.”
“Such things exist?”
Arthur knew even less than Gray about these matters, having had little interest. In fact, not once in all the years he acted as lord-regent until young Hannibal was grown had he ever ventured down into the vault to examine the relics.
“Yes. I even have one that would allow you to come and go from the underground vault in secret.”
“If you help me, Duke Benton, I swear I will repay you.”
The Count clasped Gray’s arm as he spoke. There was an urgency in his tone that only deepened Gray’s curiosity.
“In return, I’d like the chance to see that vault myself.”
Regardless of Arthur’s hidden intentions, Gray had his own reasons to be intrigued. This was a rare chance to lay eyes on precious relics and witch’s artifacts that existed nowhere else in Haiman.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, stroking his beard. Then he gave a reluctant nod.
“I suppose it can’t be helped. How do we get inside?”
Gray extended his hand. The Count seized it without pause.
Soon after, they relocated to the sitting room adjoining Gray’s bedchamber. Gray stepped into his bedroom briefly, then returned carrying two sheets of parchment pulled from his artifact satchel.
Arthur’s eyes widened the moment he recognized them.
“Teleportation scrolls… are they so common now?”
As consumable treasures, such items were typically stored in the vault and never withdrawn except by the lord himself.
For Gray to produce them so easily made the Count suspicious.
“Of course not. A single scroll costs at least as much as a modest house in the capital.”
“That expensive…”
Arthur gaped, but Gray simply handed one over as though it were nothing at all.
“We’re in the same boat, are we not?”
Then, after refilling the Count’s empty cup, Gray asked in a low voice:
“What artifact is it you’re looking for?”
Arthur hesitated, wetting his throat with wine before finally, slowly parting his lips.
It was a warm spring day. In the early afternoon, a gentle breeze swept through the garden terrace where lunch had been set.
“Welcome.”
As soon as Ann appeared, Hannibal stood up and pulled out her chair.
“Thank you, Hannibal.”
Unlike the day before, Ann took her seat naturally, smiling at him. Across from her, Hannibal’s face was equally bright and unburdened.
“I heard Luto’s reply arrived this morning?”
“Yes, negotiations are truly at hand now.”
“With their delegation arriving in two weeks, we’d better hurry with preparations for the reception.”
Their conversation flowed with ease, the air between them warm and pleasant.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t set a more relaxed schedule. I should’ve asked you first.”
“No, don’t be. We were already preparing for the delegation’s visit. But the young lady might be disappointed. Why, this morning she even ran off, all excited, to see Miss Mismighty at the annex.”
“I only hope she doesn’t cause any trouble while fluttering about.”
“You know you’re rather overprotective of her, don’t you?”
As if caught in the act, Hannibal widened his eyes at Ann.
“M-My apologies…”
“Pfft. Why are you apologizing? An older brother worrying about his sister is no crime.”
At her gentle smile, Hannibal relaxed and admitted his thoughts.
“Still, I do worry. She’s already twenty-four… perhaps it’s time she married. You’re close to Victoria—surely you’d know. Does she have no thought of it?”
“She seems more absorbed in learning magic these days…”
Ann recalled how deeply Victoria had been hurt by Young Lord Sandor. Ever since, Ann had avoided bringing up men or marriage at all. But it had been three years—long enough that, by noble standards, talk of marriage should already have arisen.
“I’ll try to feel her out, discreetly.”
“Thank you. I’ve no wish to force her, so just take your time.”
When they first met, Hannibal had seemed intent on marrying her off immediately. Whether circumstances had changed or he himself had grown, his stance was different now.
So Ann asked again:
“And if she truly doesn’t wish to marry?”
“Then she’ll live alone. Better that than tying herself to some troublesome man. She’ll never have to worry about survival as a member of House Clyde.”
He shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Ann nodded in agreement, happily spearing a forkful of plain salad greens and popping them into her mouth.
“You eat salad so well even without dressing.”
“I added olive oil and salt.”
“…I see.”
Hannibal looked down at his own plate, piled with vegetables drowned in dressing.
“That counts as salad too, doesn’t it?”
“It’s difficult for me to eat plain greens without flavor.”
Her candid reply made Ann burst into laughter. Hannibal scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, which only made her laugh harder.
Their cheerful meal came to an end. Ann laid down her fork and knife, dabbed her lips clean with her napkin, and let out a satisfied sigh.
“Shall we go see the magic circle now?”
A little walk would help her digestion. As she stood, Hannibal rose as well.
“I’ve already had a carriage prepared at the entrance.”
Though it was still within the Tegenes stronghold, the site was a bit too far to reach on foot. Ann’s face fell slightly at the thought, so Hannibal added:
“Once we arrive, there’s still quite a climb up to the circle.”
Her eyes widened, then she nodded and climbed into the carriage.
It carried them past the inner walls, away from the bustling streets, until at last it halted at a secluded northern battlement.
“Here we are.”
“Wow—.”
Unlike the crowded southern districts, the north held only vast open fields and towering walls. The air was fresh, the view expansive, and the wind free.
The spring breeze was soft and warm. In the balmy air, Ann realized that winter had truly passed.
“There’s a magic circle atop that wall. Shall we go up?”
“Yes!”
Hands on her hips, Ann declared boldly. Time for a proper walk!
The staircase spiraling up the tower seemed dauntingly tall, but Ann, confident in her stamina, began climbing briskly.
That confidence didn’t last long.
…Haven’t I been walking forever? Why does it feel like I’m not getting any closer?
Seeing her glance upward with a sigh, Hannibal asked:
“Tiring?”
“…Huff…”
“Shall I carry you?”
“…No!”
“Shall we rest a bit?”
“….”
Despite his repeated offers, Ann stubbornly refused.
“I-I’m… huff… fine…”
“Please, tell me if it’s too much.”
“Ugh, alright… huff… let’s just go!”
Seeing him perfectly composed without a bead of sweat pricked her pride. Gritting her teeth, she kept going. She had worked as a maid, on her feet from dawn till night—what were a few hundred stairs?
“…Let’s rest.”
In the end, the endless climb defeated her.
“Do all the magicians who come through this circle walk these steps?” she asked, panting.
Perhaps they were fitter than knights themselves. Miss Mismighty’s robust frame certainly made it seem so.
“They don’t walk.”
“What?”
“When we climbed before, Miss Mismighty simply teleported straight to the top. She even stopped by Luto’s royal palace from there.”
“…So if the delegation were ready, they could arrive immediately?”
“Yes. But we needed time to prepare, so they gave us a short reprieve.”
At the end of the northern wall stood a round tower, its summit crowned with the ancient circle built for exchanges with Luto.
“To think such an ancient creation still works… amazing.”
Ann glanced up at the final stretch of stairs. Still a bit more to go.
Maybe she should take off her shoes…
“Ann.”
Hannibal suddenly held out his hand.
“Let me help you.”
His face was fresh and unflushed, utterly different from Ann’s own, red and sweating.
“…Alright.”
Her legs ached, and frustration mingled with exhaustion. She took his hand.
“Ah—!”
In an instant he pulled her upward, and she fell straight into his arms. Before she could react, he hoisted her lightly and seated her on his broad shoulders.
At first the height terrified her, but his firm grip on her legs was steady, reassuring.
“I’m tall and heavy, you know. Just a little way, then let me down.”
“To me, you’re small and light. We’ll go all the way.”
And so he carried her to the very top, setting her down at last without a drop of sweat on his face.
“Wow. Not even one bead of sweat?”
“…I hardly sweat by nature.”
“Your face hasn’t even changed color!”
“…Pardon?”
He looked genuinely confused, as if that were perfectly normal.
Ann reached out and pressed both his cheeks between her hands.
“That’s not true. Your skin’s warm—so why are you so pale—”
“….”
In an instant, his ears and cheeks flushed scarlet.
