Chapter 55
“Anne Perot, didn’t you say that everyone who enters the Witch’s Forest dies?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know there are exceptions?”
“Yes, I read about them in books. The bloodline of the Clades, and the witch’s contractors.”
“There’s another— the mate of a Clade.”
She had heard it from Victoria before, and had also seen it in The Chronicle of Assad Clade.
“That would broadly be someone who will become part of the Clade bloodline.”
“Right. That’s why I thought I’d test it.”
“…What?”
“Victoria seems to like you quite a bit, almost like a friend, but she doesn’t trust me. It’s annoying for an employee to pry into their master’s partner, but I’ll prove it myself. If I go into the Witch’s Forest and come back alive, wouldn’t that prove it?”
Sandor quickened his steps toward the Witch’s Forest.
What if he really went in and never came out? What if he died?
At that moment, Anne truly resented Victoria’s request to look after Sandor.
Anne hurriedly ran after him.
“No, Lord Sandor! I believe you. Please don’t—”
She reached out to stop him when suddenly, her arm was grabbed.
“Just kidding.”
With a chuckle, Sandor roughly shoved her forward.
“Ahhh—!”
Her body was almost flung into the air and hurled into the forest.
“What are you doing?!”
The tightly packed trees, as hard as a brick wall, bent smoothly the moment she collided with them. Thanks to that, Anne tumbled further inside.
“Why did you rudely butt in? Because of you, I had to go through the trouble of killing two people for nothing.”
Through the wide gap, she could see Dello Sandor grinning.
“A maid daring to defy a noble—this is your punishment, Anne Perot.”
The bent trees closed in again, erasing the moonlight from outside.
“Help me! Please, help—!!”
Anne screamed, but Sandor’s voice grew fainter and fainter until it was gone.
Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground. Darkness surrounded her completely.
A pitch-black sky—no stars, no moon. The strange scenery made it hard to believe this was the same northern land that had the desert she’d seen just moments ago.
“So this is how I die.”
She had already died once in her previous life, and had claimed she didn’t want to live again—so why now did she feel regret?
Suppressing the sudden swell of emotion, Anne rubbed at her eyes over and over.
As her vision adjusted to the dark, the shapes of trees and plants began to separate.
“…Haa, haa…”
The air of the forest was fresh, making it easy to breathe. But oddly, there was no scent at all.
No smell of grass, moss, or soil—nor the chirping of insects, nor the calls of animals.
“This is definitely soil, and these are real leaves.”
She pressed down on the ground, touched the leaves of a nearby plant, and muttered to herself.
At that, the leaf twitched and flapped.
“Ugh! Gross!”
Startled, Anne yanked her hand away and stood up. The leaves around her rustled angrily, closing in on her.
“Ow, ow! Hey, stop it!”
She ran desperately to avoid being slapped by the leaves, until she suddenly burst out into the middle of the forest.
Thud—she half-rolled, half-fell, and when she looked up, she was standing on a flat path.
“…Still in the forest.”
On either side, colorful flowers and plants grew thick.
Before her stretched a straight road that seemed endless. When she turned back, the forest’s entrance was in plain sight.
Was this telling her to leave?
But even if she made it out alive, meeting Dello Sandor outside would only mean facing danger another way.
Without Hannibal, who would stop Sandor out there?
Between the clearly visible exit and the road that disappeared into darkness, Anne had to choose.
She turned her back on the bright exit without hesitation.
It was the same road Hannibal had taken hours earlier.
Hoping to meet him again inside, Anne stepped toward the unknown.
She had only taken a few steps in when it hit her—
Though she moved boldly, the Witch’s Forest seemed endlessly deep and faraway, even at a glance.
Then—
Jingle jingle—a clear, delicate sound, like small bells, tickled her ears.
What’s that sound?
Anne looked all around her, but saw nothing but dense undergrowth.
“Did you come in here without permission?”
A woman’s face and voice appeared right in front of her, startling Anne so much she fell back.
“Kyaaa!!”
It was too dark to see clearly, but there was definitely someone standing there.
A faint light poured over silver hair like a waterfall, and large violet eyes.
“Lady Victoria?”
If it weren’t for the long hair trailing on the ground, she might have mistaken her for Victoria.
“Come on, stand up.”
The woman kindly offered her hand, and Anne instinctively took it. The touch was as cold as ice.
“Thank you.”
Anne quickly let go, rubbing her forearm as if to warm it, then stood.
The woman silently began walking ahead.
Her long skirt trailed on the ground, but it made no sound—no swish of fabric, no footsteps. Only an occasional faint chime near her toes, as if she were walking through water, leaving no trace.
It wasn’t frightening, exactly, but Anne felt as if she were being pulled by some mysterious force, so she followed quietly.
After walking a while in silence, Anne couldn’t stand the stillness any longer.
“…Who are you? Are you a member of the Clade family?”
The woman glanced back with a bright smile. Her violet eyes looked familiar.
“Do you know where you are?”
The Witch—Moira’s—Forest.
But the witch was someone no one could meet unless they were a chosen Clade.
Only the lord who inherited Assad’s Ring, the witch’s relic, could freely visit her.
It was said that confirming the witch’s existence and pledging loyalty to her was what ensured the West’s prosperity for generations.
That was what Anne had always believed, yet she tilted her head and bravely asked—
“Are you… the witch Moira?”
Anne had never believed in the witch, dismissing her as myth or legend.
But the woman claiming to be the witch looked exactly like someone from the Clade family.
It was certain that no other Clade besides Hannibal had entered this place.
Then again, if there were anyone here who wasn’t a Clade, they would have to be the witch—unless Anne had died and was meeting a ghost.
“Who else would I be?”
The woman smiled faintly, as if answering her thoughts. Anne flinched and forced away her wandering thoughts.
Before long, the road grew brighter, revealing the scenery in detail.
Magnificent, beautiful flowers surrounded them—ones she hadn’t seen earlier.
“…There’s no fragrance at all. No wonder there are no insects. Is this really living land?”
“I’m here. Nothing else matters.”
Anne followed her, breathing deeply several times, but the air carried none of the scents of living things.
Soon, a wide altar and a small stone marker came into view at the road’s end.
And there—
Hannibal Clade was waiting.
She heard footsteps approaching.
The witch made no sound when she walked.
Thinking that, Anne turned her head—only to find Hannibal already right beside her.
“My lord?”
“Anne Perot—why are you here?”
Hannibal shouted in shock.
Of all intruders, it had to be her.
When Moira appeared behind Anne, his anxiety only grew.
“Lady Moira, this girl—”
“No wish to make, nothing for me to grant—so why come here?”
Both the witch’s and Hannibal’s gazes fell on Anne. She waved her hands frantically.
“I didn’t come here on my own! Young Lord Sandor pushed me in.”
“Dello Sandor?”
“Yes. I think he held a grudge over the petition matter.”
“Oh, the one who wrote that prayer full of lies?”
Moira nodded knowingly.
“The mother-and-daughter ‘accidental fall’ was also his doing! He told me himself that he spent precious money because of me. I don’t care if I die here, but please—you must protect Lady Victoria from him.”
Anne spilled everything without reservation.
She wasn’t a Clade, nor the Clade’s lover, so she thought she might well die here.
“Hold on. You’re not going to die here.”
Anne blinked at Moira’s interruption.
“…What?”
“If you were going to die, the forest would have swallowed you the moment you stepped in. The fact it didn’t means there’s a reason you’re here.”
“…I’ve lived my life with nothing to do with you, my lady witch. I’ve always been in Edith Tara.”
Seeing her unconvinced, Hannibal asked—
“Has anyone among your family, friends, or lovers died young? Or suddenly? Or do you have some special history, some debt, or something worth owing?”
“…What?”
“I’m asking if you or anyone close to you ever made a contract with the witch.”
Anne shook her head firmly.
“No. No one in my family even knows you exist. We were devout believers, always faithful to the temple. Every year at the end of the year, we’d donate the money we saved bit by bit over the year.”
Now that Moira was standing right before her, Anne couldn’t deny her existence.
Hannibal tried to search her face for any sign of deceit, but for the innocent Anne, his gaze was only uncomfortable.
Who would have thought she’d be unlucky for not dying like the others?
