Chapter 19

Lost in thought, Cheshion strolled leisurely outside the mansion. His aimless steps eventually led him to an empty lot behind the estate.

‘If Ibelia said it, it must be true. There are no witches in this world.’

Yet why did Mori’s face keep surfacing in his mind? Was it simply because she was beautiful? Cheshion Edel, could it be that he was falling for Mori?

“Ha! Ridiculous!”

It was absurd. Not giving his heart to women he rescued—that was Cheshion’s ironclad rule. Because it often led to messy love triangles. With Isollen and Mori, things had turned out relatively well, but in the past, there had been fights between dark-haired women he hadn’t even been involved with.

As he wandered aimlessly, he found himself in an overgrown, unkempt thicket. Deciding it was time to head back, Cheshion turned around.

Just then, a faint squeak! echoed—the sound of a mouse. He turned to see a small black kitten clutching the rodent in its mouth.

“A… cat? With red eyes?”

The kitten was tiny, barely larger than the mouse. Perhaps inexperienced in hunting, it soon lost its prey.

Gremory, currently in cat form, was annoyed. If Cheshion hadn’t appeared, she would’ve succeeded. Startled, she had let the mouse escape.

Cheshion chuckled and crouched down. Gremory bristled and backed away.

What? Trying to catch me? No way—ugh.

“I’ll feed you. Come home with me.”

With a swift motion, Cheshion grabbed the scruff of her neck and smiled warmly. He then cradled the cat in his arms, stroking her gently.

Gremory was indignant. How dare this human cradle a witch and pet her like this? But… she was getting… sleepy… Why did his strokes feel so good…?

“Huh? She’s asleep.”

Cheshion carried the sleeping cat to his study, thinking he’d give her meat or milk when she woke.

After carefully placing her on the sofa, he draped his coat over her and settled at his desk to focus on work. Halfway through the paperwork, he stretched—

And froze.

Where the cat had been, Gremory now lay asleep in human form.

“……!”

Cheshion clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a scream. There had definitely been a cat there, and no one had entered the study. So how had a pitch-black kitten turned into a woman with jet-black hair?

Just then, a vassal knocked on the door. Startled by the noise, Gremory stirred and burrowed deeper into Cheshion’s coat.

Panicked, Cheshion rushed outside. The vassal, Baron Demora, was taken aback by the duke’s pale face.

“Why the sudden rush? Is something wrong inside?”

“Baron Demora, your wife is from the northern snowfields, correct? The far northern regions?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Do people there… have the ability to turn into cats?”

“Huh? Haha! I’m not sure what prompted that question, but it’s not impossible. According to my wife, there’s a tower of mages in the far north where all sorts of eccentric sorcerers live in seclusion. If such a place exists, there might well be humans who can turn into cats.”

“…I see.”

So Mori really was a mage from the northern snowfields. She was a ‘warrior’ from there, but who said warriors couldn’t also be mages? If she was both, it explained everything about her actions so far.

As he agonized over this—

“By the way, could you approve these documents?”

Baron Demora handed over a stack of papers. Cheshion accepted them awkwardly.

“Ahem. I’ll review and approve them shortly.”

“Thank you.”

After the baron left, Cheshion took a deep breath outside the door.

“Hah.”

Then he opened the study door—and nearly jumped out of his skin. Gremory, now awake, was rubbing her eyes like a groggy cat.

“M-Mori?”

“What?”

“Were you… a cat?”

“I transformed for a bit, and you caught me.”

“……!”

“Give me meat. I’m hungry.”

Gremory coiled Cheshion’s coat around herself and flopped onto the sofa. After a moment of shock, Cheshion chuckled faintly. He knew her habit of wrapping herself in things she liked—his coat must’ve been soft and cozy enough to suit her.

Well, as long as you’re comfortable.

It’s strange how all my worries vanish when I look at you.

A council of vassals convened, spurred by the prophecy Ibelia had delivered.

“Why did Her Highness only inform us of this critical matter a week in advance? Even seven months wouldn’t have been enough!”

“At least she came to warn us. We must evacuate civilians near the volcano first.”

“But the volcanic region has vast farmlands. If crops and granaries are damaged, the winter will be devastating. How do we address that?”

“And how do we handle the ancient dragon? Only His Grace stands a chance against it.”

Isollen and Gremory also attended.

Isollen glanced at Gremory. I’m here because I know the duchy’s affairs inside out, but she hasn’t even been here a month. Why is she here?

“Hey, Mori. Why are you spacing out?”

“I’m consuming chaos and fear.”

“…What?”

Isollen tried to gauge her age. She was definitely an adult, but had her delayed rebellious phase only hit now due to witch hunts?

The meeting dragged on for two hours. Growing impatient, Gremory raised her hand.

“I have something to say.”

Cheshion quieted the room and gave her the floor.

“I know an easy way to kill the dragon. It moves using the volcano’s heat—if we remove all the heat, it’s just a giant lizard.”

“And how do we remove the heat?”

“Use a magic circle that absorbs it.”

The vassals buzzed skeptically. Was that even possible? Besides the duke, the duchy had no mages.

A magic circle? Cheshion grew more convinced Mori was a northern mage.

“Mori has the ability. Let’s trust her.”

The day of the dragon’s awakening arrived. Cheshion led his knights to set up camp near the volcano. The crimson sunset felt eerily ominous that afternoon.

Gremory busily drew something on the ground with a branch. The knights watched in fascination.

“So this is a magic circle? Magic’s so rare these days—this is my first time seeing one!”

“Hoho, the Saintess is full of talents! She even knows magic?”

Cheshion, the only actual magic-user present, frowned. This doesn’t follow standard magical formulas. It feels like… ancient demonic script?

Regardless, Gremory completed the witch’s circle. It linked to the volcano’s depths, where the dragon stirred awake, scratching its temples irritably.

Just as the dragon tried to burst forth with an eruption—

Gremory’s circle siphoned away the volcanic heat. A pillar of fire erupted from the circle, and condensed fire essence rained down like drops. The knights cheered.

“Look at all this fire essence! I’ve never seen so much in my life!”

“This winter will be warm!”

Reduced to a helpless lizard, the dragon flailed halfway out of the volcano. Without the heat to fuel it, it was powerless.

A pitiable, treasure-laden lizard—

SCREEE—

Cheshion’s sword cleanly beheaded it.

Thanks to the dragon, the duchy prospered. Cheshion used the scales’ profits to replace worn cobblestones, repair convents and churches, build faster roads, and gift fine clothes to his household.

The teeth went to the blacksmith, who locked himself in his forge, vowing to craft a sword worthy of the duke.

The horns sold for a fortune as miracle cures. The auction house buzzed with dragon loot for weeks.

And Gremory?

“Delicious.”

Picnicking on a sunny hill, she chewed happily on dragon tail meat, indifferent to the world’s affairs.

Meanwhile, far from her, Cheshion frantically flipped through a book—one on ancient demonic languages.