Chapter 73
“It isn’t you, Lord Hannibal, who has been ruined—it’s me.”
Whether it was a broken engagement or a divorce, Hannibal could always marry again. It wouldn’t leave much of a stain on his reputation.
But for her, it was different.
Anne cast aside her calm mask and let her dissatisfaction show.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology came immediately. Anne finally asked the question that had been nagging her.
“Why do you keep apologizing?”
“Because I truly am sorry.”
“I thought nobles didn’t apologize to commoners.”
“If someone has done wrong, then they must apologize until the other person forgives them. That’s how I was taught.”
Anne found his words strange. Nobles lived with class consciousness etched into their very bones. But Hannibal seemed oddly free of it.
Perhaps it was because he had lived since childhood on battlefields among people of every rank, facing life and death together.
“Will you keep apologizing until I forgive you?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t apologize anymore. I can’t forgive what has already happened, but I fully intend to take the compensation you promised me.”
Though the incident had been shocking, now that it was over Anne found she could face Hannibal with surprising composure.
Wearing a dress and standing by his side, enduring the jealous stares and unpleasant looks from the guests in the ballroom—
None of this was the first time for her.
Seeing her calm demeanor, Hannibal suddenly wondered what might lie hidden behind that composed exterior.
But he soon pushed the thought aside and spoke softly.
“Anne, I have one more request.”
At that, Anne lifted her head slightly.
“I did promise you earlier that I’d end the engagement whenever you wished… But since I don’t know when the war will end, could you remain my fiancée at least until then? This isn’t coercion—I’m appealing to your goodwill. There’s no one I can trust with Teganes but you. Once I uncover Luto and Hyman’s intentions, my father’s threats will lessen and I’ll soon head to the capital. Until then, I beg you to look after the lord’s estate.”
It was hard to believe this was the same man who had once been so wary of her for being a woman from the capital. Hannibal now placed his trust in Anne Pero.
And truthfully, compared to his father—who seemed ready to hand over the estate to the Emperor at the first command—Anne was undeniably more reliable.
“But if you’re gone, will the Count ever recognize a mistress of the house who came from being a maid?”
She knew all too well because she had been oppressed before. No one would belittle her in front of Hannibal, but behind his back they would ridicule her, slander her, and once she lost protection, they would discard and trample her without mercy.
“You don’t need to endure my father. Even I, his own son, can hardly tolerate him. You shouldn’t have to.”
His voice was firm as he urged her.
“How could I possibly do that? Even if I acted with half the boldness you do, I’d be thrown out of the estate in an instant.”
“The master of Teganes is me. And after me, it’s you, the mistress. I’ll leave you with that authority. If you still suffer injustice, record everything. It would be even better if you note down how you wish to be compensated.”
That was, at last, a very noble-like solution.
A man who could give nothing but money, and a woman who could receive nothing but money.
It was almost funny, yet Anne found she liked the simplicity of it.
It wasn’t that Hannibal had lingering feelings for her. He had dragged her into an unavoidable situation, yet he acknowledged it honestly and promised to make amends. That sincerity actually put her at ease.
He knew she was a maid, but at least he never used it to demean her.
“Anne, please keep a close watch on my father.”
He didn’t mean to take care of Count Arthur. He meant to watch him.
“While I’m gone, he’ll reach out again to his connections in the capital. He might try to threaten or use you.”
“You suspect the Count could even be an Imperial spy.”
Hannibal had participated in countless battles and wars since childhood. But this was the first time the Imperial Army had advanced so far south on such a large scale.
“My father doesn’t want to be a man of the West. He wants to belong to the capital.”
Hannibal had already concluded that Count Arthur was their greatest internal enemy.
“They’re clearly trying to isolate us. Luto’s elite troops are gathering in the capital. With the weather turning cold, they won’t head south where the monsters awaken. They might strike straight at Teganes, near the oasis.”
“But didn’t you say the deployment would be to the south? I heard they requested support there.”
“That’s their problem.”
Hannibal had no intention of humoring Sandor’s requests. Whether it was monsters or Luto’s army, they could deal with it themselves.
“At least Lady Victoria is staying in Teganes. She won’t be caught up in this.”
“…I should’ve killed that bastard back then.”
The mention of Sandor made Hannibal grit his teeth in sudden anger.
“People like him will surely face divine punishment.”
Sitting together on the sofa, Hannibal and Anne continued their idle conversation.
Hannibal finally rose when it grew late and Anne began yawning, clearly drowsy.
The next day after the party, Hannibal wasted no time in visiting Count Arthur.
“Father, let us go and pay respects to the Witch.”
“Every year I’ve promised the Witch that I would bring you, Father, to swear your oath.”
“In truth, this is a duty any of Clan Claid must bear.”
“You promised me, Father.”
The Count had been putting off the matter, but his son’s persistence—bursting into his chambers every morning before breakfast—was wearing him down.
He refused even to open the door, until finally he snapped.
“Fine! I’ll go! Will that shut you up?!”
Hannibal immediately pressed his advantage.
“Then I’ll set the date at once. As you said, war is close, so let us depart within the week.”
“Get out of here already!”
Having wrung the answer he wanted, Hannibal left, well satisfied.
Meanwhile, Anne was busy adjusting to her new position as Hannibal’s fiancée and leaving behind her duties as head maid.
“Shouldn’t you stop handling the head maid’s work now?” the steward suggested gently.
Anne only clutched the ledger tighter.
“I’ve handed most tasks over to Penny, but I should still oversee the household accounts.”
Watching her unable to let go of the work, Patrick felt both regret and relief.
How long had it been since the estate had a true mistress? And one who could actually be trusted to run things properly—he could only be grateful.
“Just don’t overwork yourself, my lady.”
“…Please, call me ‘miss’ instead.”
Anne’s ears turned red at the new title. Realizing she wasn’t yet married, Patrick quickly corrected himself.
“Understood, miss.”
Once the door closed, Anne opened the familiar ledger. Its presence before her soothed her heart.
“Yes… I should keep working.”
Her work as a maid—it felt like it defined her very being.
Even as Hannibal’s fiancée, she had to keep doing what she could, so as not to be swallowed up by that title.
A few days later, the date Hannibal had chosen for the visit to the Witch’s Forest arrived.
Word had just come that the Emperor Hyman’s reply to their letter of protest was already on its way to Luto. Truly, time was short.
“You’ll use a teleport scroll again, won’t you?”
Count Arthur spoke casually, as if he’d forgotten how furious he had been when Victoria had used one.
Without a word, Hannibal drew out two scrolls from his pouch.
“It isn’t the Witch’s Night season, so we should travel quietly with only a few of us.”
The party consisted of just three: Anne, Hannibal, and Count Arthur.
As before, Anne grasped the edge of the old parchment and was engulfed in bright light, transported instantly to the forest.
“Oh!”
Seeing the old man stagger, Anne moved to support him. Count Arthur only clicked his tongue at his son, who stood watching idly.
“Can’t even help your aging father when he stumbles!”
“From the way you’re yelling, you seem quite healthy. Let’s go.”
Confirming that his father could stand, Hannibal pulled Anne to his side and walked ahead, gesturing for the Count to follow.
Recognizing the Ring of Assad, the forest parted easily before them this time.
“Ugh, it’s damp and chilly. So gloomy, even in broad daylight!”
Count Arthur grumbled the whole way. Ignoring him, they pressed on until they reached the Witch’s altar.
“So, this is where she holds her rites.”
The Count muttered as he touched the edge of the stone altar.
“Where is the Witch?”
“Perhaps if you bow before the monument, she’ll gladly appear.”
Even sarcasm came out in such a courteous tone—it was a talent.
Watching the twisted father and son, Anne decided to pretend she hadn’t heard. Intervening would be pointless.
When Anne and Hannibal stood together before the monument, the Count hesitated before joining them, bowing as well.
Then Hannibal clasped his hands and prayed aloud.
“Lord of Clan Claid comes before the Witch, Lady Moira, to bring joyous tidings. Please bless the engagement of myself, Hannibal Claid, and Anne Pero. My father, Arthur Claid, also greets you, so I ask you to receive his oath.”
So they truly were performing a ritual.
Having once seen Hannibal and the Witch together in a far less formal manner, Anne found the sight strangely refreshing.
Wasn’t the Witch revered as a god in the West?
Seeing Hannibal’s respectful bearing, she reconsidered the weight of the Witch’s standing.
At the same time, a question formed: was such direct and restrictive devotion really necessary just to gain the Witch’s favor?
“At last, you’ve come!”
Before her thoughts could continue, Moira appeared, her bells ringing especially cheerfully that day.
“Th-the Witch?”
Count Arthur’s eyes darted between Moira—appearing by the monument—and Hannibal.
His face was as if he’d seen a ghost. Moira strode forward confidently, introducing herself.
“Yes, I am the Witch Moira. And Clan Claid is of my bloodline. Seeing me in person, you must realize it now.”
With that, she cast a meaningful smile at Count Arthur. He trembled, unable even to meet her gaze.
Collapsing, he pressed his forehead to the ground in fear, all his usual arrogance gone.
“M-Mistress Witch, please spare me!”
As Hannibal and Anne turned in shock at the sudden plea for mercy, a clear bell chime rang out.
Their vision blurred, and both collapsed unconscious onto the forest floor.
Paying them no mind, Moira stepped forward until she loomed over Count Arthur.
“Arthur Claid, why have you come before me in false guise?”
The warm, affectionate smile she’d shown moments ago was gone.
Now she was every inch the fearsome Witch.
