Chapter 67
Anne and Victoria’s faces brightened instantly. Their eyes were still wet with tears, and the tips of their noses were flushed red.
“Thank you!”
“Thank you.”
The two repeated their thanks over and over, their voices choked with emotion. Moira, looking down at them like a kind mother, spoke.
“But the blood of Clyde that I take still has no soul. So you mustn’t grieve or feel pity. To add—he was never fated to be born anyway. So, descendant, it isn’t your fault. Do you understand?”
“Ah…”
Victoria covered her mouth with both hands and wept.
It was as if the witch had given her confirmation—it’s nothing, so it’s okay.
“Huuu—hic—!”
Anne’s body also began to tremble at those words. Her tears soon turned into sobs.
Sniffling, Victoria bowed deeply to the witch, then rose and went to Anne, who was still collapsed on the floor.
“Anne… Anne… I’m okay. I’m okay now.”
Her tear-stained face was soaked as she hugged Anne tightly.
Seeing Anne suffer as if the pain were her own filled her with an indescribable emotion.
“My lady—”
“Anne—”
The two embraced and wept loudly together.
Grief, regret, anger—even the relief at the end of it all spilled out as tears.
They cried for a long time. When Anne finally turned her head, feeling the prickling gaze on the back of her skull, she met Moira’s cool violet eyes directly.
The witch spoke, still scrutinizing her.
“…A request is not a contract, but I trust you’ll keep it.”
“Since you, Witch, have shown faith first, I will certainly repay it.”
Anne silently vowed she would bring Arthur to meet the witch, even if she had to kidnap him.
Moira’s lips curled upward, as if she had read her thoughts.
“You don’t look the part, but you’re very passionate, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. Anne doesn’t look it, but she’s really passionate,” Victoria chimed in with a laugh.
“…What do you mean? Hmph.”
Anne wiped her runny nose and retorted, while Victoria rubbed her swollen eyes.
“That side of you, Anne, is what I really love.”
Her words made Anne’s eyes well up again.
Seeing their affectionate display, Moira frowned and waved her hand irritably.
“Save the sentiment for later, back at home. Enough already.”
She stepped down from the altar and approached Victoria. Slowly, she brushed her palm over Victoria’s lower belly.
After a brief ritual, the witch returned to the altar. Anne asked,
“…Is it finished?”
Magic had no visible color, but the process had been so brief it felt anticlimactic.
“Yes.”
The witch tilted her head and shrugged.
Victoria wrapped her arms around her stomach, looking stunned. She lowered her head, conflicted, before finally murmuring,
“Thank you… truly. Witch, you’ve saved my life.”
“Have I? Then the price for saving you—”
Moira’s lips twitched, but Anne quickly cut in.
“Thank you! The lord’s contract is finally fulfilled!”
“Really, sharp kids are no fun,” Moira muttered, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. But her tone wasn’t displeased, which reassured Anne.
“It’s done. Now go.”
She shooed them away with a bored expression.
“Yes, thank you! Next time I’ll be sure to come with the Count!”
“Witch! I’ll also come greet you at the next Witch’s Night!”
Anne and Victoria, with bright faces, bowed vigorously. Their swollen eyes and red noses met, and they both laughed.
“You came out early?”
By the time they left the Witch’s Forest, it was still broad daylight. But being near the forest, the air felt cool and chilly.
The first thing to greet them was the savory smell tickling their noses.
Oliver had lit a campfire and was waiting with sausages sizzling in a pan.
“Mmm, smells so good,” Victoria said brightly.
Oliver waved with a spatula. She ran over, speared a large sausage with her fork, and bit into it. Then she gestured for Anne to sit beside her.
“Come sit here, Anne.”
“Yes, maid chief, sit here too. Since we’re only meeting Hannibal at dinner, let’s camp here for a while.”
At Victoria’s invitation, Anne sat down awkwardly. Oliver naturally offered her food, and she reluctantly took a bite of the well-cooked sausage.
“There’s black pudding, dried meat, and cheese too—should I grill those as well?”
“Yes, let’s eat as much as we can. The bag’s too heavy!”
“Okay—!”
Victoria, brandishing her knife and fork triumphantly, blew on the tea Oliver handed her. Her eyes were still swollen, but she smiled. Oliver said nothing, only serving them a hearty meal.
He looked fondly at Victoria, then when his eyes met Anne’s, he simply grinned and passed her tea as well.
“Thank you.”
“Me too.”
“Hm?”
“Victoria’s grown into such a lady. That’s all thanks to you, maid chief.”
“Oliver!!”
Victoria shouted with her mouth full of sausage and meat.
“My lady, finish eating first.”
“Fine—”
She chewed quickly under Anne’s scolding. Once her stomach was satisfied, she asked Oliver,
“Aren’t you curious what I went there to offer?”
“Nope.”
His answer was immediate.
Anne was quietly moved—he had shown loyalty instead of curiosity.
“Really? Did my brother tell you?”
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you curious? You don’t doubt or misunderstand why I came here?”
“I don’t. If Hannibal thinks I should know, he’ll tell me.”
Oliver was firm. Victoria gave a bitter smile.
“I offered Sandor’s child in my brother’s place.”
Her voice, so bright earlier, now sank heavily.
Even though everything had ended well, she was stirring up wounds again.
Anne had been about to stop her, but seeing the heaviness in Victoria’s eyes, she held her tongue.
“No one else will ever know, so just for today I’ll accept any blame or curses.”
Indeed, Oliver Gattens was trustworthy, unlikely to let such words slip. Perhaps that’s why Victoria chose him as her confessor.
She probably wanted to be scolded and punished.
Victoria kept her gaze on the fire, waiting silently for his rebuke. But after a long pause, what she heard was completely unexpected.
“You did well, Victoria.”
Oliver had grown up with Hannibal. So until now, he only knew her through him.
But now, as Hannibal had come to see her in a new light, so too did Oliver.
“You saved Hannibal Clyde’s life. And your own. Your choice was right. If it bothers you, should I kill Sandor’s child for you?”
He puffed up his chest as he said it.
“Hhh—!”
Overcome by his heartfelt words, Victoria buried her face in her arms.
Oliver and Anne silently watched her tears, waiting patiently.
After staring at her bowed head for a while, Oliver finally turned back to the fire, poking at the logs with a stick.
She was grateful he didn’t ask anything more.
Oliver Gattens was the son of Grand General Lombel, who had died protecting Hannibal on his first campaign.
Even with cause for resentment, he had become Hannibal’s right hand out of nothing but friendship and loyalty.
Maybe because they had risked their lives together on the battlefield.
Anne found herself envying Hannibal for having such a friend.
Though she had lived among maids and built some camaraderie, she had no one she could truly call close.
Even when she left her aunt’s home or the duke’s house, she had felt little sadness in parting.
In her life before regression, it had been even more barren.
But now, if she were to name someone she could dare call a friend—it would be Victoria.
“Cry, my lady. Leave all your sorrow here.”
Anne gently patted Victoria’s back. With every touch, her sobs swelled, then subsided again.
May the witch take away all your pain.
Crackle, crackle—the only sound between the sobs was the fire.
By the time the black night had spread over their comfort, Victoria rubbed her swollen eyes and gave an embarrassed smile.
“Shall we go now, Miss Victoria Goldfish?”
“Are you teasing me?!”
“Ugh—”
Oliver groaned as Victoria jabbed him in the ribs, while Anne quickly tidied up the area. Finally, Oliver packed up the bag.
“It’s about time Hannibal will be waiting.”
Oliver pulled out the teleportation scroll. Like before, Anne and Victoria held the edges.
Riiip—
As the paper tore, the three were engulfed in light once again.
Victoria, Anne, and Oliver’s trip away had lasted only a single night.
“You’ve returned safely.”
Hannibal greeted them with indifference. But according to Patrick, he had finished dinner early and waited in the underground chamber the whole time.
“Did your prayer go well?”
“Yes, the witch listened kindly.”
Curiosity betrayed him as Hannibal asked Victoria. Once he heard her answer, his lifted eyebrows relaxed a little.
He’s a man of subtle expressions, after all.
Anne smiled awkwardly when their eyes met.
“Good.”
Hannibal nodded briefly, then turned away. Oliver followed him.
“No problems?”
“What could happen in a single day?”
“Then good.”
Watching the two bicker lightly, Anne finally felt that daily life had returned.
Victoria’s shoulders also seemed lighter as she went to her room.
In the rare peace of the moment, Anne too lay down, finally able to sleep at ease.
Though the next day she scolded Count Arthur for secretly using the stables without her knowing when Victoria went out…
Hannibal brushed off her complaints, saying it was his right as lord.
And so, life went on as usual.
Count Arthur remained at the manor. Hannibal either ignored him or pressured him to go to the Witch’s Forest.
And every evening, Anne brought the ledgers to Hannibal.
As soon as their eyes met, Hannibal sighed.
“At the next Witch’s Night, I’ll have to drag you there by force.”
“I’ll gladly help with that!”
Anne’s burning eyes of determination startled him slightly.
“You didn’t make some separate contract with the witch, did you?”
