Chapter 96
Miss Mighty’s days were rather leisurely. Other than Victoria’s magic lessons, she didn’t have any fixed schedule, and even those weren’t especially busy.
“Master, look at this!”
Victoria called out as she turned to Miss Mighty. The bastard child of Clyde.
Despite the grim rumors, Victoria’s personality was bright and charming, and Miss Mighty had grown quite fond of her disciple.
Watching Victoria beam brightly, her silver hair fluttering, Miss Mighty’s lips curled into a proud smile.
“It’s a magic circle! I drew it myself!”
Though she had only been learning for two days, she managed to sketch a clumsy magic circle and set coordinates.
At most, it shifted a leaf one step backward, but unlike ordinary apprentices, she showed no signs of fatigue after using magic for the first time.
Perhaps it was because she carried the blood of a witch; her mana truly overflowed.
How could this be? And how could she remain so ignorant, knowing nothing despite such gifts?
Why hadn’t the witch told Clyde anything? Out of love? Or hatred?
Just then, Ann appeared with tea and refreshments, breaking Miss Mighty’s train of thought.
“Today’s treat is jam pie with spices from the west. The cook was confident it would be even tastier.”
Ann’s gentle smile was tinged with sorrow, unlike just a few days before.
Miss Mighty had already heard the rumors circulating through the castle—that Hannibal had left the lord’s manor under the pretense of inspecting the fief.
Perhaps that was why Ann had spent the entire day accompanying Victoria, under the excuse of observing her magic lessons.
Miss Mighty popped one of the offered sweets into her mouth, then turned her attention back to Victoria.
“Now, move this magic circle. With your mana.”
A floating magic circle—
As soon as Miss Mighty gestured, the circle appeared in midair. Ann’s eyes went wide at the sight.
“Does that mean… you’ll teleport over there?”
Sitting beside her at the tea table, Ann tilted her head curiously.
“A magic circle is literally a spell drawn out. The type of spell determines the magic—it’s not always teleportation.”
“Then… does that mean magic can do anything?”
Until now, Ann had never shown any particular interest in magic. Even when attending the lessons, she only brought refreshments and sat quietly.
Occasionally, she asked perfunctory questions for Victoria’s sake.
But now, seeing her genuine interest for the first time, Miss Mighty found herself asking back without thinking:
“Why? What kind of magic are you curious about?”
Ann bit her lip, pondering for quite some time before cautiously answering:
“…Can magic turn back time?”
At that, Miss Mighty furrowed a brow, probing Ann Pero’s intentions.
Clearly, she must have had a reason for asking.
Judging from her slumped shoulders and downcast expression, it seemed her relationship with Hannibal had grown distant, leaving her heartbroken.
Though pitiful, Miss Mighty betrayed nothing in her reply.
“The mana consumption would be extreme. It would be beyond ordinary ability.”
Mana was the source of power that allowed one to defy nature, and magic was the method of drawing it out.
So, it wasn’t impossible—only that the cost would be enormous.
“Then… if it’s not ordinary ability, does that mean it’s possible?”
Ann’s eyes lit with curiosity as she asked again.
What kind of answer was she seeking?
Miss Mighty narrowed her long eyes.
To turn back time… was that truly the wish she harbored? Or… had she already wished it once?
“A witch could do it. But the price would be very great.”
She chose what seemed the most fitting answer.
Everyone in the West knew: witches could grant wishes through contracts, but at the cost of one’s life. Miss Mighty knew this well.
Yet Ann flinched at those words, as if she had stumbled upon a clue, her fists clenched tightly.
Miss Mighty silently watched her leave the tea table for quite some time.
Another person to keep an eye on.
Later, after finishing dinner with Victoria, Miss Mighty finally returned to her annex.
She rarely left her room, so, as usual, she spent her time seated at her table in solitude.
Just then, a bird fluttered to her window and tapped the glass with its beak.
Recognizing it, she opened the window, and the bird dropped a slip of paper before flying off.
[You didn’t even take the magic orb with you! You just dumped all the work on me while you relax in Teganes, didn’t you, Miss Mighty? There’s a mountain of things that need to be done right now…]
The rest was a string of nagging she already knew too well.
Fwoosh—Miss Mighty burned the paper without finishing it.
But at once, another tap came at the window.
Turning back, she saw another bird drop off a second note before vanishing.
[I knew you’d burn it without reading! This time, read it to the end. I’ll put something important at the very bottom! Do you even realize how much I’m suffering because of you…]
Skipping the middle, Miss Mighty’s eyes went straight to the last paragraph.
[The king commands that investigations into foreign lords must cease. Even if the witch’s curse is real, it has nothing to do with us. He won’t tolerate further interference. And he knows you’ve been visiting the Witch’s Forest alone several times already! Miss Mighty, if you keep this up, the successor may truly be replaced—]
Fwoosh—she burned the paper again.
What nonsense. Return and resume the king’s duties?
That incompetent king had already been deceived by Hyman and, in his frustration, attacked Edith Tara, leaving the realm in a hopeless predicament.
And now they wanted her to take responsibility for that mess? For him to bask in glory while she bore the disgrace?
“Ridiculous.”
Miss Mighty pulled out Assad’s research journals and diaries from her dimensional pouch.
At their core wasn’t love for the witch, but Assad Clyde’s own ambition to become a great mage.
“I’m not digging into Assad’s secrets—I’m demanding the truth from the witch herself.”
She murmured to the ashes smoldering in the fireplace.
From the moment she had stormed alone into the battlefield where the Western army camped, her goal had been singular:
To pry from the witch the truth of that so-called blessing—or curse.
Somehow, she had turned Assad, once a mediocre mage, into one of Luto’s most powerful archmages.
Enough that he had dared to dream of surpassing the witch herself.
How could that be? How could such a thing be achieved?
At the root of all these questions lay Miss Mighty’s own long-held desire.
“If other mages could wield power as easily as the witch, no one would have to ruin their bodies just because of the mana they were born with.”
She muttered, curling her massive frame into the fireplace’s warmth.
A mage’s body, unable to contain its innate mana, constantly swelled and strained.
Unbearable power was both a curse and a blessing.
At times, it brought agony close to death. At others, it gave ecstasy without end.
And yet, Victoria—whose mana was not even half her own—could wield her power without so much as losing her breath.
It amazed Miss Mighty so much that, when Victoria used magic circles, she deliberately overloaded them with her own mana to make them harder to handle.
But Victoria’s reaction had been astonishing.
“Whew, that’s tough. I feel a bit dizzy.”
That was all.
Where others would cough blood, collapse, or even die from internal rupture, Victoria merely felt a little dizzy.
Miss Mighty felt not just envy, but pure awe and curiosity.
And alongside it, a surging, uncontrollable desire.
If she herself could harness the witch’s power… might she too attain flawless magic, like Victoria?
Then perhaps she could usher in an era where only true mages ruled, and powerless humans could no longer strut unchecked.
That was the world she longed to create once she became king.
But first, she needed to meet the witch.
Her deep contemplation was broken by a sudden knock at the door.
A servant entered and delivered the message:
“The Count and the Duke request your presence.”
“Since those of us staying in the annex haven’t had a chance to reminisce, why not share a drink tonight?”
Count Arthur greeted Miss Mighty with a glass the moment she entered.
The table at the center of the parlor was already laden with bottles, glasses, ice, and a spread of snacks.
Miss Mighty scanned the scene in disinterest, then her gaze fixed on a small velvet-covered box in the corner.
Even at a glance, it radiated a peculiar magical aura.
“What is that?”
At her question, Count Arthur, who had been reaching for another bottle, waved dismissively.
“First, have a drink—”
“No. I don’t drink. Get to the point.”
Miss Mighty detested pointless socializing.
Least of all with a drunkard known for his antics, or someone entangled in scandal—especially one rumored to be involved with the lord’s fiancée.
When she turned her gaze to Gray, seated at the table, he sighed and rose.
“Very well. This way.”
He led her to the corner where the box was set. The three of them sat around it.
“This is Count Arthur’s heirloom.”
“…I inherited it from my father, but I was never told what was inside. I’ve always been curious. That’s why I called you here—to learn exactly what it contains.”
Arthur cleared his throat after speaking. Clearly, he and Gray had prepared this conversation beforehand.
“It won’t open—must be sealed with magic. Can you help?”
“So, you don’t know what’s inside, but you want me to undo the magic seal?”
Miss Mighty chuckled at the brazen request, but Gray’s gentle tone smoothed the moment.
“Surely, it must be a relic sealed by the witch or Assad. Who else but you could we turn to for something so extraordinary?”
At the mention of a relic tied to the witch and Assad, Miss Mighty’s interest sharpened. She slowly picked up the box.
With a snap of her fingers, it floated into the air, spinning in every direction.
Though it seemed she’d barely cast a spell, the sight made the Count and Duke gape in awe.
Watching them, Miss Mighty’s lips curled into a sly smile.
“Since you called me here privately, I assume this is not something the lord should see. In that case, is it perhaps an item from his private arsenal? A mere trinket wouldn’t be bound with such a seal.”
With a gesture, she snapped open one side of the lock with a soft click.
“T-Then…!”
As the box spun, threatening to open, Arthur and Gray fidgeted, almost leaping forward.
“Could this truly be the witch’s relic?”
Miss Mighty’s smile deepened, her lips drawing into a sharp curve.
And with a firm grasp of her palm, the spinning box flew into her hand.
