TMLWA 30

Chapter 30

If you look easy, you’ll be taken lightly. That was a universal truth, regardless of hierarchy. The man, though violent in behavior, pleaded with the soft-hearted Victoria for mercy.

“In Edith Tara, deceiving a noble is a crime punishable by beheading.”

“…!”

The man’s eyes widened.

“Steward, is Clayde any different?”

“There’s no logic in punishments being lighter in the west than in the capital. I’ll cut off his head right now!”

Patrick, overwhelmed by guilt, was even more eager than Anne to see the man punished.

“P-please spare me! Please, Miss Victoria!”

As the man tried to approach Victoria, two servants blocked his path. Anne stepped forward.

“Mr. Sam Robert, please confess everything you know and cooperate in finding May. And also clearly state the source of the money you embezzled.”

Anne, still in her maid uniform, spoke calmly. The man looked around, regaining some composure, and responded brazenly.

“How should I know where Head Maid May went? And embezzlement? I only received fair payment for my work!”

Maybe it was years of scamming experience.

His shameless attitude prompted Anne to add more pressure.

“Take the fake Andre to the dungeon and send a single scribe to extract a confession.”

“I told you, I didn’t embezzle anything!”

Meanwhile, Victoria pushed past the servants and returned with a fireplace poker.

“First, I’ll bash that bastard’s head in. Maybe then he’ll start talking sense!”

“Even if you’re the young lady, violence without proper procedure is illegal. In Clayde—”

“The law is the lord, and Miss Victoria is acting as lord in place.”

Anne cut off the man’s protest.

Her words gave Victoria a confidence boost. She grinned and swung the poker through the air with a swoosh.

But Anne wasn’t planning to let her actually beat the man to death.

“My lady, you mustn’t.”

“Why noooot?”

Her face showed her disappointment so plainly. No matter how much she’d been refined and disciplined, her raw nature still surfaced.

“Please don’t stain your noble hands. I’ll try my way first.”

Of course.

The man looked visibly relieved—until Anne gave him a chilling smile.

Do you know what we did to thieves in the Duke of Benton’s household?

“Take the fake Andre to the dungeon. No food or water.”

Patrick nodded. Anne then spoke loud enough for the man to hear.

“And tomorrow, we’ll cut off his right wrist. Send a physician to treat the wound immediately, and don’t discard the severed hand—leave it in the cell.”

The man’s face twisted in horror. What kind of grotesque talk was this?

“If what he confesses turns out to be false, we’ll cut off the other wrist the next day. Then, with a day’s interval, both ankles.”

Anne delivered her horrifying statement with complete composure.

“With injuries and bleeding, it becomes unbearable even after a single day. A word of advice: drinking your own blood before it clots is said to help. Flesh starts to stink after a day, but supposedly it’s easier to chew. …I once saw someone survive in a cell for fifteen days that way—before finally dying.”

The man turned pale and was dragged away to the dungeon. Patrick looked down at Anne with astonishment for the first time.

A cruel and cold world—he had seen and known it well. He’d just never realized she carried it within her too.

Victoria lightly tapped Anne’s shoulder.

Just as Anne was turning around, worried that she might have disappointed the young lady who always told her to live peacefully—

“Anne, you’re the best!”

Victoria beamed and gave a thumbs-up.

My lady, that’s not the takeaway here.

Anne sighed deeply.

* * *

It was said that the first ancestor of the Clayde family received the witch’s compass when he got lost in the desert.

“If there’s a place you truly desire, it’ll take you in that direction.”

Hannibal Clayde knew well the flaw in those words.

Direction, not destination. Witch artifacts always came with a wicked twist.

“Should’ve just stolen a teleportation scroll. Why take a cursed relic and drag everyone into this mess?”

Muttering as he rode, Knight Oliver complained.

“It was meant to draw attention—that’s why she gave it to Mathilda.”

“Even the head maid isn’t ordinary. Who thinks of using a witch’s artifact?”

“She’s lived in my castle longer than I have. Probably knows it better too.”

A spear from afar hurts less than a knife from the chest.

Hannibal recalled the blunt betrayal of the maid Anne Ferro, who’d thrown it right in his face.

She’d barely been in Edith Tara for a short while, yet she caught on to the problems in Tegennes Castle faster than anyone else.

That shame made it hard for Hannibal to lift his head.

He still remembered and lived by his mother’s teachings.

“Hannibal, this land belongs to Clayde, not Hyman. Don’t be like your father, licking the empire’s boots.”

Sarah Clayde never neglected her role as acting lord, just as much as she took pride in it.

Even while pregnant, she gained the witch’s approval to have Hannibal recognized as the heir. As acting lord, she taught him everything about managing the territory.

She always emphasized: never get friendly with the empire like the count, and always be wary of those who covet the west.

Naturally, Hannibal inherited this worldview.

Anything outside the west was the enemy. Conversely, anything of the west was an ally.

So, when his mother died, Hannibal, even as a child, tried desperately to fulfill the duties of lord.

His body still small, armor ill-fitting, wrists aching from heavy swords and spears—but Hannibal believed this was all his responsibility.

Even when his father visited yearly just to mock him and threaten his position, he wasn’t afraid.

He trusted his people’s strong support and faith—just as his mother said.

But somewhere, something went wrong.

In his efforts to fulfill his lordly duties outside the castle, he’d neglected what was happening within.

Maybe, after his mother died, he let go of the vital link she had kept with the servants.

And it took a mere outsider—a maid—to point that out.

“Hannibal.”

Oliver, who had fought by his side since adulthood, seemed to sense his regret and called his name.

“We all know the blood and sweat you’ve shed. The people you protected all know.”

But even sincere comfort didn’t lift Hannibal’s mood.

He glanced down at the ring on his right index finger.

Asad’s Ring.

Another witch’s artifact.

Stamped with the Clayde family seal, it symbolized the lordship. He hadn’t taken it off even once since birth.

“I know. Because I am Clayde.”

He’d come to trust in witches and their powers because he saw their miracles on his own hand every day.

The ring his mother wore slipped off and shrank perfectly to fit his newborn finger.

Even now, as a grown man, it remained clean, undamaged—like it grew with him.

Lord of the west, master of Tegennes. Hannibal rubbed the ring with his thumb out of habit.

The ring gleamed even in the dark, like it was encouraging him.

He looked out into the distance and raised his reins. A single beam of light shone down in one direction.

“Recover the witch’s artifact at all costs. You may kill the criminal.”

“Yes, sir!”

The knights’ cry shook the skies. Hannibal gritted his teeth and rode hard down the barren road.

* * *

“Time to go to bed, my lady.”

Anne, unable to watch Victoria slumped like melted cheese on the chair, spoke up.

“Aren’t you sleepy, Anne? How are you still so upright?”

Victoria, who had just given up standing and plopped into a seat, looked up.

Anne was tired too, but the mansion’s atmosphere was tense, and as the one who’d exposed the May incident, she couldn’t let her guard down.

“I’ll wake you in the morning. Please go rest.”

“Alright. You must be tired too—go sleep.”

“I will.”

Yawning nonstop, Victoria finally retreated to her room. Anne then approached Patrick, who was briskly moving through the lobby, managing the staff.

“Steward, is there anything I can help with?”

“Anne, why are you still awake at this hour?”

“You’re staying up too, aren’t you?”

“I’m responsible for this. You should get some rest.”

Patrick, deeply remorseful for not noticing May’s embezzlement, had dark circles under his eyes.

The usually dignified older gentleman looked like he’d aged ten years in a single night.

“I share some of the responsibility too. Everyone was living peacefully until I stirred things up.”

“Has anyone blamed you?”

Patrick asked gently, concerned.

“Not directly… But I can’t help but worry that I caused unnecessary conflict. I’m an outsider—I don’t know much about the west or Tegennes.”