Chapter 74
Jingle– clink–.
The bells on the witch’s body rang all the louder as she approached. Count Arthur flinched at every sound, yet still managed to stammer out a question.
“Wh-what do you mean, a false appearance—?”
At that very moment—
With a mere flick of the witch’s hand, the silent forest stirred with a gust of wind.
In an instant, the Count’s gray-streaked hair turned scarlet, and his murky violet eyes gradually shifted into a deep red.
“Ah… ah… Aaaaargh—!”
Startled by the transformation wrought by the witch’s power, Count Arthur nearly smashed his forehead into the ground as he kowtowed.
“I—I truly am a Clayde! I am the sole legitimate son of Owen Clayde and Melissa Clayde. It’s the truth, Witch! Please, just spare my life—!”
Terrified, half-mad, the Count clutched at his own hair, eyes squeezed shut, begging for mercy again and again.
“I know, blood of Assad.”
Indeed, the traces of Moira still flowed in Arthur’s veins—so the next generation had produced a proper Clayde.
The witch, Moira, sneered as she observed Arthur Clayde’s lifelong inferiority complex.
“I never wanted to be born like this. I wanted to be born a Clayde too. I’d rather have—”
“If you had made that wish early, none of this would have happened.”
“……”
“But you feared giving up your life, didn’t you?”
At his core, he was a cowardly, selfish man. No matter how he tried to hide it, his choices always revealed it.
Looking upon this descendant who so closely resembled Assad, Moira recalled the past.
“Arthur Clayde, I will give you an offer—one that may release you from your lifelong resentment. Will you listen?”
“Y-yes, anything you command! I will carry out your grudge, Witch—eh?”
Still trembling, the Count raised his head. He had heard her words, but could not grasp their meaning.
“I said—I will grant your wish.”
“I will not make a wish. Not now, not if it costs me my life—”
Even at his age, he still clung tightly to his own life. He had never possessed courage in his youth—why would it suddenly appear now?
If anything, he had grown pettier, more timid with time.
Moira snorted at his defeatist words.
“Don’t worry. I do not want your foolish little life as payment. Rather, I offer something that benefits you.”
“A… proposal?”
“Yes. Will you hear it?”
She leaned in close, smiling wide, her lips stretched unnaturally as her intoxicating power seeped into him.
Count Arthur, ensnared, nodded blankly.
“Bring me the Golden Key. Do that, and I shall destroy the Claydes.”
From Moira’s lips spilled the most fervent, deeply hidden wish in Arthur’s heart.
“……!”
Rustle— whoosh—.
The light breeze stirred the forest once more.
The grass swayed, and the unconscious Anne and Hannibal were gently lifted back onto their feet.
Moments later, the two blinked awake, quickly regaining their senses.
“—Since you swore your loyalty, I shall spare your lives.”
Neither of them had realized they had even fainted; they only felt a fleeting dizziness, and thus found nothing unusual about the conversation’s end.
Anne looked between Arthur and the witch.
“So… is everything settled now?”
“Yes, Anne Ferro. The Claydes’ loyalty is confirmed.”
“I owe you my deepest thanks, Witch.”
Thanks to the Count’s pledge, Victoria had been spared. Anne and Hannibal both offered their gratitude.
“Thanks, indeed. Ah, and congratulations on your engagement. Even I never expected you two would become a pair~.”
The witch laughed heartily, teasing them. Then her violet eyes narrowed as she looked at Anne.
“Are you happy?”
“…Pardon?”
“You are Hannibal Clayde’s fiancée now.”
“O-of course!”
Anne wondered if the witch had seen through her hidden unease, but forced herself to smile brightly.
“…How very amusing,” the witch whispered near her ear.
Startled, Anne whipped her head around—but the witch was already offering well-wishes to Hannibal, as if nothing had happened.
Did I imagine that?
“You may go now.”
Count Arthur still stared blankly into space, dazed and hollow, even as the others prepared to leave.
“You must be shocked to see me suddenly.”
“……”
“Arthur Clayde.”
“Y-yes!”
“Go.”
Anne and Hannibal supported the dazed Count as they retraced their path back.
All the while, the witch’s bells chimed softly, sending them off.
* * *
In the office of Lord Tegenes, a man stormed about, spittle flying as he ranted.
“How could you not tell me a word beforehand? If you’d given me even a hint, I wouldn’t have sat there like some useless sack in front of the Count and Viscount Deruca!”
Hannibal, seated at his desk, remained calm despite the noisy tirade beside him.
But Oliver kept on complaining, oblivious.
“And what kind of best friend shows up empty-handed to his brother-in-arms’ engagement? While you were getting congratulated by the Witch herself, I was tearing my hair out wondering what gift I could possibly give you—”
Oliver Gatens fumed, while Hannibal’s thoughts were elsewhere. His engagement to Anne still didn’t feel real.
He found himself absentmindedly writing Anne’s name on a paper, then erasing it again and again.
Now that she was formally the Lord’s fiancée, she would need many things to uphold her new dignity.
Hannibal paused, then began listing out items beside her name:
She had only one pair of ballroom shoes… no dresses at all… and certainly no necklaces or rings.
As he frowned, considering what else she might need, Oliver suddenly pulled something from his breast pocket and declared proudly:
“That’s why I came prepared! Behold—the true token of friendship!”
“Oliver, quiet for a mome—ugh!”
Before Hannibal could look up, thud thud! Two objects smacked against his forehead. He scowled, picking them up.
“Sorry, you should’ve caught them better.”
“What is this?”
Annoyed, Hannibal examined the items. They were finely cut, heart-shaped mana stones.
“I got these rough gems from a small tribe during last year’s border subjugation at Ruto. You can’t find stones like this in all of Haiman. I saved them to bless you and Anne.”
As Hannibal frowned at the gift, Oliver plunked down a large case onto the desk.
“And rare gifts must be presented with rare packaging. Look! Romantic, right?”
Hannibal’s expression darkened as he stared at the gaudy, bright-red case—shaped like a huge heart split in two.
“…You expect me to give this as a present?”
Anne had refined taste, proven by her eye for Victoria’s dresses and jewelry.
But even Hannibal, who lacked such discernment, found Oliver’s case shockingly tacky.
“Are you serious? You want me to hand her this?”
Oliver, who had been to far more parties and met more noble ladies, clearly lacked all sense of aesthetics. A comrade on the battlefield, yes—but utterly tasteless.
“Why not? It’s nice! When I was twenty, I bought a lump of Ruto’s red stone and had it carved into a heart shape. Still haven’t found an owner for it.”
“…I’m sure that thrilled nobody.”
“So what? A mana stone necklace is practical. You can track its location, it wards against monsters and magic—what’s not to love?”
“……”
Hannibal had to admit, the functionality was appealing.
He slipped the heart-shaped mana stones into his pocket without hesitation, but shoved the gaudy case back toward Oliver.
“Wha—Hannibal?”
“I’ll accept the stones and your goodwill. Thank you.”
“Wow, really? You’re heartless.”
Tacky or not, it was still a valuable gift.
Patting the endlessly grumbling Oliver on the shoulder, Hannibal finally sent him on his way.
Later, Hannibal summoned Jack and ordered the finest craftsman in Tegenes to be brought.
Perhaps they could refashion the stones into a beautiful new necklace, adding gems and a design that would truly suit Anne.
Holding the pair of stones, Hannibal smiled faintly.
* * *
Winter arrived in a blink. Outwardly, Lord Tegenes’ castle remained peaceful.
Hannibal, however, stayed vigilant, keeping watch over news from Haiman and Ruto while patrolling the castle and its borders daily.
Meanwhile, Anne busied herself with the steward and Penny, the new head maid, diligently tending to household affairs.
“You no longer need to bring me the ledgers every day, Anne.”
After weeks filled with the oath ceremony, the visit to the Witch’s forest with Arthur, and countless other tasks, Anne once more brought the household accounts to Hannibal’s office.
He returned the book without even glancing through it.
“Managing the castle is your authority. You may decide on the necessary funds and their allocation yourself.”
“No, that’s too much. I’ll just use what’s needed each month and have you confirm it.”
“I say this because you are the one managing it. Running a lord’s household is as difficult and vital as governing a territory. You bear that responsibility, so you are given that authority.”
On top of the ledger, Hannibal placed documents listing the full estate holdings, available funds, and exact amounts Anne could command.
If I got greedy, what would stop me from squandering everything?
Perhaps Hannibal, like many Westerners, had a trusting nature.
Out of curiosity, Anne secretly ordered a new dress for Victoria—an elaborate design with embroidery and lace covering the skirt, costing no small sum. Hannibal said nothing.
So it really is my responsibility and right now.
Unsettled, Anne finally confessed the amount she had spent.
His reply was utterly unexpected.
“Next time, buy one for yourself too.”
So different from the man who once scolded her over every coin in the ledger.
