Chapter 28: The Token of the Pact

“You really are an old fox, but I won’t agree to it.”
Du Buyi’s face had darkened with anger, as black as the bottom of a pot.
The two continued up the stairs, with Dericht dutifully following behind. The door to the witch’s chamber was shut, this time locked from the outside; without Du Buyi’s key, no one could open it, and thus, no one could enter. The three reached the innermost room, where Carlos was still unconscious, though his complexion had eased considerably. Even in sleep, he had begun to snore softly.
Mori fetched a stool and placed it by Carlos’s bedside. Watching his son sleep, he gently stroked Carlos’s forehead and murmured, “Look how you’ve suffered, my child. I thought bringing you here would keep you safe from harm, but it’s turned out to be nothing but trouble. Poor boy.”
He adjusted the tangled blanket for Carlos, then shouted at Dericht behind him without turning: “Is this how you protect your brother?”
“It’s my fault,” Dericht declared firmly. “No matter who harmed Carlos, I swear I’ll make her regret it for the rest of her life.”
Du Buyi looked embarrassed.
If shamelessness were a contest, your noble house would win hands down.
Carlos slowly awakened, carrying the pleasant tales of his dreams, and opened his eyes with a smile still lingering on his face.
It was Dericht sitting on the stool at the bedside now, eagerly waiting. When Carlos finally woke, Dericht quickly brought over a bucket filled with chicken soup.
Carlos cared little for etiquette, feeling weak and not bothered whether the chicken was properly cooked or if feathers still floated in the broth. He simply poured it all into his mouth.
Chicken breast, low in fat and high in protein, was ideal for restoring strength. Chicken liver, rich in vitamins A, B1, B2, C, and minerals like iron, phosphorus, and calcium, was perfect for replenishing blood. As for the drumsticks—so succulent that Carlos, who hadn’t seen a proper meal in ages, gripped one in each hand and devoured them until his face gleamed with oil.
With cheeks puffed out, Carlos ignored all the refined dining manners expected of a noble.
Dericht stared, dumbfounded. The way his brother ate—so voracious, so uncouth—seemed exactly like him, perhaps even worse than when he himself had starved for days in the wilderness.

After a while, Mori returned, looking quite pleased. Seeing Carlos sipping soup and devouring the old hen he’d personally cooked, Mori laughed, kicked Dericht aside, claimed the nearest stool, and produced a token, saying to Carlos, “I’ve seen that girl. Smart, though a bit mad—she’s a good match for you. Take this contract token. With it, she won’t be able to harm you ever again.”
He handed over a wooden idol, the size of three fingers. Carlos glanced at it and said, “Father, next time you handle something like this, use a different method.
Contract or not, I still intend to settle accounts with her. Otherwise, all the suffering I’ve endured would be in vain. I know you and Du Buyi have some secret history, so there’s no need to put on airs in front of us younger ones. One’s afraid I’ll kill her precious granddaughter, the other fears the girl will come back to harm me. Look, wouldn’t it be simpler if one of you just got rid of the other?”
He took another big gulp of soup, savoring the taste, and then grabbed a fork to fish out the remaining chicken giblets.
Mori looked at his beloved son with mild annoyance—if only Carlos weren’t so clever, he’d be perfect in every other way.
“If you kill that little witch, forget about ever learning alchemy. Salt Well Town wouldn’t survive the fallout, and I’d probably have to hide out at the Duke’s manor in the capital just to be safe.”
Carlos paused.
“Alchemy isn’t really the issue. I’ve read all the theories—I doubt it’s too difficult. Get an instructor for some practice, and I might master it soon enough. Making a prosthetic for my brother would be no trouble. But you mentioned the witch’s background—when did killing a witch become so complicated?”
“What do you know?” Mori glared at Carlos.
Carlos shrugged.
“Fine, I don’t know.”
Mori suddenly looked surprised. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Of course I am. I’m just waiting for you to drop some tantalizing hints. If I start talking, who knows how long you’ll drag it out. I might die of curiosity—what a tragedy.”
Dericht, who had been standing coolly and quietly, couldn’t help but twitch his lips at this.

Mori shook his head in mixed amusement and exasperation, then finally said to Carlos, “That young witch’s mother is a great witch…”
Carlos rolled his eyes—what kind of revelation was that?
Mori glared at him, then continued in a different tone, “That great witch is no ordinary woman. Before becoming a witch, she was a seventh-level black mage. To achieve that rank at such a young age is nothing short of extraordinary. She graduated and immediately devoted herself to the dark arts, advancing rapidly. Now, she’s known as Reina, the thunder queen of the witch world.”
Carlos listened with rapt attention. He’d heard of Reina—a wizard of exceptional talent, possessing magic on par with a king, and, even more remarkably, not yet fifty and stunningly beautiful. He sat up straighter and asked, “So this great witch has king-level power? How did someone so important become the daughter-in-law of my messy old teacher?”
Mori pondered Carlos’s question for a moment, then replied with a strange expression, “I won’t tell you any more about these things. You have no sense of awe toward the powerful, and I fear you’ll easily offend someone in the future. It’s one thing to accidentally offend someone whose strength you don’t know, but to mock those you know to be formidable—that’s courting death.”
Carlos glanced around, lowering his voice, “Are you saying these powerful figures can overhear our conversations?”
“Possibly. The witch’s mother might be watching this room through a crystal ball. For someone of her rank, nothing is out of bounds.”
Upon hearing this, Carlos stuffed the chicken tail into his mouth and quietly shut up.
Mori came in a whirlwind and left just as swiftly, not waiting for Du Buyi’s invitation to a dry bread feast. He patted his backside and departed.
Before leaving, he made a point to have gifts sent to Dwarf Maclin, Elf Vivian, Half-beast Cook, and even the mysterious magical beast hiding inside the house, thoroughly bribing each of Carlos’s roommates.
From start to finish, father and son never spoke of the dark aura or the bloodline of the Demon Child of the Summer Moon, as if they had both chosen to forget that matter entirely.