Chapter 4
Anna tilted her head, studying Gremory’s face.
“You’re right. Now that you mention it, she does have northern tundra traits. Even her teeth are sharp, perfect for chewing meat.”
“Potatoes probably weren’t common where she’s from. No wonder she couldn’t stomach the soup.”
After a moment of deliberation, Cession made a decision.
“From now on, only raw meat for Mori. If she’s from the northern tundra, she’ll have immunity to parasites. And we have good anti-parasitic magic now.”
Fine, whatever. Gremory mentally shrugged and crunched through the chicken bones. Anna marveled at her jaw strength.
“Do northerners all have jaws like this? Amazing! My old mastiff made the same sounds eating raw chicken.”
“It’s good to see her eat so well. Next time, we’ll prepare meats preferred by northern tribes.”
Cession left with a satisfied smile. Fully resigned, Gremory gnawed on the drumstick like a woman condemned.
One week later, morning.
An unseasonably bright early spring day. Even this gloomy mansion couldn’t resist the fresh breeze. Anna, intoxicated by the vibrant green grass, begged Gremory to go outside.
“Lady Mori, I love your dark, moody room too, but the outdoors is nice! Staying inside all the time isn’t healthy. Let’s take a walk. I’ll push your wheelchair.”
As usual, Anna interpreted silence as agreement. Humming, she fetched the wheelchair.
Gremory rose without protest. She’d learned resistance was futile—last time she’d burritoed herself in blankets, Anna wept about “poor traumatized Lady Mori, too scared to face the world.” Easier to comply.
Anna dressed her in a light spring outfit and draped a white lace shawl over her shoulders. Gremory’s face soured at the blindingly bright colors.
Anna, however, was radiantly proud as she wheeled her through the halls.
“I’m so glad you came here, Lady. Serving you has given me energy—everyone feels it!”
Gremory crossed her legs and stared dead ahead.
‘Obviously. I’ve been snacking on this mansion’s dark energy.’
Her constant grazing had unintentionally purified the estate’s aura. The irony wasn’t lost on her—a witch cleansing a household? Absurd.
A guard caught her eye. Once sullen, he now beamed unnervingly.
“Lady Mori, you’re radiant today! Out for a stroll?”
“Stop bothering her! Let’s go, Lady.”
A week in this house had gifted Gremory two skills: selective hearing and infinite patience. She employed both as Anna toured her through gardens, fountains, spires, and even the chapel, chattering nonstop.
“I talk too much, don’t I? Thank you for listening—most wouldn’t tolerate it.”
“……”
“I’ve no family or friends left. They all died eight years ago. From the ‘Gremory’ plague.”
“……”
“The way they died… like demons possessed them. I barely spoke for years after. But listening to me has helped me find my voice again.”
Gremory tuned her out. A maid’s sob story meant nothing to a witch—especially when she’d unleashed that plague. Who cared who died?
…Kill them all, Gremory! Spread the plague now!
Why hoard power if you won’t use it?!
You worthless rebel—make food before we starve!
Memories surfaced. Gremory’s black eyes flicked to her hand—clutching a bouquet Anna had picked, filled with the prettiest flowers.
An odd tightness crept into her chest—
“Baaah!”
—then shattered at the sound of a goat.
She turned. A surreal scene unfolded: Cession dragging a black goat by a rope. Plump, massive, and—from a witch’s perspective—delicious.
Black goats were a witch’s favorite delicacy. So much so that deranged cultists sacrificed them to demons. By infernal law, any witch or demon receiving one had to grant a small wish in return.
And yet—
“Ah, Mori! Out for a walk? This is for you.”
Cession waved cheerfully.
Gremory froze. For me? Why?
Anna wheeled her closer.
“Oh! Will you butcher it for Lady Mori’s meal?”
“Yes. Northerners supposedly prize black goat meat. Used to be taboo—now they eat it openly.”
“Lady Mori! A taste of home!”
“……”
The goat, sensing doom, desperately backpedaled—but Cession’s grip was ironclad.
‘Oh for hell’s sake.’
This was a problem. Whether he knew it or not, Cession had just offered a black goat to a witch. Infernal rules demanded she grant one wish.
Then Hans, Cession’s aide, came sprinting.
“Your Grace! The Crown Prince is here—again!”
“What now?”
“He’s… upset about you humiliating his mistress at the Spelz banquet.”
“That again?”
Cession rubbed his temples. Then—
“I wish that bastard would just disappear.”
—Contract sealed.
Gremory’s eyes flashed red. The goat collapsed, soulless.
Chaos erupted—no one noticed her eyes amid the commotion. Anna shrieked about freshness, Hans hauled the goat to the kitchens, and Cession calmly wheeled Gremory away.
Later
Cession met the Crown Prince at the gates—no way was he allowing that nuisance indoors.
Back in her room, Gremory linked vision with a crow to watch.
Severian de Inorent Frilliant (what a name) and Cession faced off, the humiliated mistress glowering behind him.
“Apologize. Don’t escalate this, little brother.”
“You’re throwing a fit over me calling her ‘ugly’? Fine. My sincerest apologies.”
“On your knees.”
“Hard pass.”
Gremory rolled her eyes. Royalty fights over this? Demon lords have classier feuds.
‘Let’s see… The Prince wants to tarnish Cession’s reputation and take his place.’
Cession’s popularity was unmatched—after he outlawed witch hunts, women and nobles alike breathed easier.
Gremory flicked her fingers. A crimson thread materialized between Hans and Severian.
Then—
“You insolent—!”
The Prince drew his sword and stabbed Hans through the heart.
Silence. Only the thud of a collapsing body echoed.
“…What?”
Severian paled. He’d just murdered Cession’s favored aide—unprovoked. His reputation would never recover.
Gremory grinned.
Well, Cession? Your precious aide’s dead. I’ve given you every reason to pummel that Prince into oblivion. And by the way—Hans was his spy. No great loss.
