Chapter 95
Gray was still chewing over the story he’d heard from Count Arthur the night before.
“There are three relics of the witch. The Witch’s Compass, Assad’s Ring… and the Golden Key, which no one has ever seen, but is said to be kept deep within the underground vault of the Clayde family. It was a gift from the witch herself to the first family head, in exchange for a promise of the family’s prosperity.”
Arthur had spoken in hushed tones, saying it was information passed down only to the lord of the house.
“I’m going to bring it to the witch.”
What for? Gray had asked, only for Arthur to chuckle and drain his glass.
“She promised to grant me my wish if I did.”
A wish granted should have been cause for joy, and yet Arthur’s twisted laughter sounded so strange that Gray couldn’t tell if it carried happiness or sorrow.
“And what is your wish, my lord?”
“That’s a secret I can only tell the witch! Hahaha!”
Gray had asked only out of curiosity—why would a family head risk stealing a family heirloom for a wish? But truthfully, he had no desire to know what that wish was.
His thoughts lay elsewhere.
So, all one needed was to bring the relic—not even one’s life in exchange—for the witch to grant a wish? Then perhaps… perhaps if he offered her the Golden Key himself, she would grant him another chance to make his wish.
Yes. For the time being, it would be wise to play along with Count Arthur, as though they were truly in the same boat.
As Gray sank into thought, Jamie burst into the room.
“My lord, outside—!”
He was breathless, chest heaving from having run.
“The young master is here. Lord Hannibal Clayde.”
Gray knew well that father and son were on poor terms.
“They seem to be arguing in the parlor. Voices have been raised—better not go out there just now.”
He’d rushed here out of worry that Gray might get caught up in it. But Gray’s eyes lit with amusement instead.
“I wouldn’t miss such a fine spectacle.”
Why else would Hannibal have come, if not to confront his father?
“M-my lord!”
Ignoring Jamie’s protests, Gray went straight to the annex parlor.
The moment he stepped inside, the two men—locked in a tense standoff—snapped their heads toward him.
“For you to come all the way to the annex, young master… what brings you here?”
Arthur welcomed his arrival more than anyone, then glanced at Hannibal again.
“Go on, ask him yourself. You’ll see whether I’ve spoken truth or falsehood.”
At his father’s gesture, Hannibal turned on Gray, eyes sharp enough to strangle.
Gray lifted his chin and smirked.
“I don’t know what this is about… but you seem to have a question for me?”
Hannibal didn’t even smooth the crease in his brow.
“Have you ever met my fiancée alone?”
Hearing Hannibal call Ann his fiancée made Gray’s blood boil. But he swallowed it back.
“Ah…”
That day’s meeting was a memory Gray wished to erase—shameful and humiliating. Yet, because of it, rumors had spread, serving him better than expected. Perhaps misfortune had turned into fortune.
He nodded.
“I have.”
Hannibal’s eyebrow twitched.
“Explain in detail.”
“Well, it was a matter just between us. Hardly something I could share with a third party.”
“I know full well you mean to make things difficult for Ann.”
Hannibal’s stubborn belief in her innocence amused Gray, who let his lips curl.
“She was put in a difficult spot because of you.”
If not for you, Ann and I would already be together in Edith Tara.
Who would have thought that a lord from some forgotten borderland, a man I never even remembered, would become such an obstacle?
How to remove him? If I make a wish of the witch, would she erase even his bloodline?
As Gray let his hostility show, Hannibal matched him with fierce energy.
“A final warning. If you truly care for Ann, mind your behavior.”
Barely containing his fury, Hannibal clenched his fist and turned away.
He had come here to ease his own doubts by questioning Arthur directly. But to be met with Gray’s provocation the moment he arrived—it was infuriating. The man didn’t even bother to hide his intentions anymore.
It was clear enough: those two were plotting something together.
As Hannibal walked back to the main residence, he let the cold air cool his burning head.
“You’re back. Lady Ann asked that you stop by, even if late,” Jack informed him.
So the rumor had already reached her ears. By tomorrow the servants would be whispering, and before long it would spread beyond the castle walls.
True or false, gossip would wound her all the same.
He needed to tell her it didn’t matter. That he believed in her. That was what he should say.
But…
“…I’m weary tonight. That will be all.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Jack didn’t press him. Still, Ann would likely wait up for him tonight.
Hannibal sat in his study, sighing heavily.
“Do you truly love her, even now?”
His father’s words rang in his ears, stabbing his heart. Without certainty, he had no courage to ask Ann directly.
“Coward…”
No matter how many times he splashed his face with cold water, the wretched expression would not leave him.
Rumors of Ann Perot and Gray Benton swept through the Clayde lord’s castle.
Arthur chuckled.
“Thanks to the gossip, Hannibal’s gone off on an inspection tour for several days. Fortune smiles on us.”
The two of them had just used a teleportation scroll to sneak into the underground vault. With Hannibal away, it was the perfect opportunity.
As Gray gawked at the trove of artifacts and enchanted items, Arthur searched the deepest part of the vault, finally retrieving a small box said to contain the Golden Key.
Gray examined it.
“You’re sure this is it?”
“It lies in a place no Clayde can reach, yet no Clayde can open. If not the Golden Key, then what else could it be?”
The box was tiny, fit for a necklace or brooch. But it wouldn’t open, so they had brought it whole.
“Could it be sealed by magic?”
Lingering here too long only increased the risk of discovery, so they had left quickly. Yet Gray’s eyes lingered with doubt.
Perhaps they should have searched more thoroughly.
Arthur had been so impatient that Gray hadn’t even been able to properly browse the artifacts. His frustration turned into a scowl as he set the box down.
“If it’s a witch’s relic, it must bear enchantments by the witch or by Assad. How will you undo them?”
“We’ll offer it to the witch as it is.”
Arthur spoke lightly.
“And you’re certain the Golden Key is inside? Shouldn’t we search the vault again?”
“I told you, this is it.”
Arthur’s conviction had reason. The Witch’s Compass had been boldly displayed, but this box had been hidden behind a concealed door discovered only by accident while rummaging.
If not a relic, why hide it so carefully?
Still, it could be another of Assad’s treasures.
“What if we’re wrong and draw the witch’s wrath instead?”
At Gray’s caution, Arthur hesitated for the first time.
Watching the old man frown, Gray tried to pry the box open again, but it remained sealed, like a clam clamped shut.
“If it’s sealed by Assad or the witch, no one could undo it. Assad was a great mage—few on this continent could rival him. Perhaps we should comb through the vault again, search every corner—”
“A great mage… there is one, right here in Teganess, isn’t there?”
Gray cut him off, eyes gleaming.
Fortune was on their side.
At this very moment, the archmage celebrated as greater even than the king of Luto was visiting the west.
“…Mismighty?”
Arthur frowned, stroking his chin.
“But can we trust her?”
If word reached Hannibal, both of them would be ruined.
“No one else on this continent can break a seal left by the witch or Assad. I know your concern—but Mismighty is ambitious when it comes to magic. With the right words, she might break the seal, if only for the challenge.”
Gray knew well of her reputation. Born without royal blood, she had become an archmage by talent alone, devoting herself to magical research and invention.
During his dealings with Luto’s merchants, Gray had heard countless praises of her.
“This is a magical tool accidentally created during our archmage’s experiments—”
“A product of Luto’s archmage’s research. Rare even in Caelus, but for you, Duke, we’ve procured it specially!”
Some artifacts consumed mana; others simply made daily life convenient. Collecting them all, Gray had picked up plenty of stories about Luto’s famed successor.
“After all, we don’t even know for sure what lies inside. Let’s simply ask for help. If she refuses, we can pay her. Between the Lord of Clayde and the Duke of Edith Tara, surely we can afford the price.”
They could not deceive an archmage—but they could appeal honestly, without revealing too much.
Arthur finally gave his reluctant consent.
That very evening, Gray sent a request to meet Mismighty.
