Chapter 23
Magic Trick
If not for Karen’s reminder, Lucy might never have noticed the odd behavior of that official witch apprentice by the roadside.
But at that moment, a sudden flash of insight streaked through her mind, and the shadowy figure lingered in her thoughts.
She suddenly recalled the scene from the night of her predecessor's sudden death.
In the dim corridor, that figure cloaked in black robes, wandering the high tower’s gallery with some unknown eerie presence, gradually overlapped in her consciousness with the silhouette that had just flitted past her line of sight.
“That’s right, it was that person!”
As if waking from a dream, Lucy suddenly clenched the hem of her apprentice witch robe and quickly chased in the direction where the figure had vanished.
But there was no sign of that person.
A cold autumn wind blew past, and the chill crept up her spine. Only then did she realize with a start that she had recklessly come out alone in pursuit.
If the other party truly intended to kill her, wouldn’t she have just walked right into a trap?
At that thought, Lucy hurriedly retreated back into the courtyard. She only relaxed after seeing the fleshy construct crouched inside the West Tower’s gate.
If it really was him yet she was clearly the victim in this whole matter why would he still come after her?
Lucy paced back and forth in the courtyard, her mind running like a high-speed machine.
After ruling out a great number of external factors, Lucy finally deduced two possible explanations.
First: the black-robed man had been performing some kind of forbidden ritual that night and assumed all witnesses must die. But then discovered she had survived, and now wanted to silence her to prevent exposure.
Second: he had discovered that she was a transmigrator.
Between the two, Lucy leaned more toward the first possibility.
Because if it were the second, there was no reason for the person to hide.
An official apprentice had the authority to investigate whether she was a transmigrator.
Right now, the fact that he knew she hadn’t died but still hadn’t approached her directly, instead secretly investigating from the shadows, clearly showed he didn’t want his activities that night to come to light.
But what exactly had he been doing in the corridor that night, to the point of being willing to act again just to eliminate her?
“I must find out his identity.”
Lucy let go of the gray robe hem still clenched in her hand and turned toward the servant rest area.
Though she had no interaction with the black-robed man, one of the slaves who had come to clean up her “remains” had said he was sent by a steward.
If she could find that steward, perhaps she could ask who had ordered him to do the cleanup.
However, no one would risk offending an official apprentice for the sake of a mere apprentice. If she wanted to find out who was behind it, she would have to resort to certain methods.
...
The time approached eleven at night.
Apprentice Cafeteria, Tower of the Four Sages.
Steward Camon Tafft was making his usual rounds, inspecting the ingredients needed for tomorrow’s breakfast.
His calloused palm carefully rubbed the wheat piled up for porridge-making.
The reason he had been able to serve the great witches in the tower for over twenty years and gradually rise to the position of lower steward was precisely due to this diligence and hands-on attitude. No minor error ever escaped his watchful eyes.
After confirming again that both the quantity and freshness of the ingredients were in order, Steward Camon personally locked the kitchen doors and dismissed the cooks and servants.
They would return to the servants’ rest area to sleep and wake up in six sandglasses’ time to prepare breakfast.
Steward Camon, however, still needed to check the surrounding hygiene conditions before he could return to his quarters for rest.
In the early hours, the tower was nearly deserted, and the vast front plaza was completely empty.
A breeze blew past, and the aging steward Camon tightened his collar, letting out a few suppressed coughs.
Autumn had arrived, and the air was thick with dust that made his eyes and throat itch. Long periods of standing and walking often left his knees sore.
Having passed the age of fifty, he should have long since retired from frontline duties, but the tower's witches were extremely generous.
As a lower steward, Camon earned five gold coins a month almost equivalent to a year’s expenses for an ordinary household making it hard to give up.
Thus, Camon was very responsible in his work and held deep respect for the witches.
However, he was getting older, and the high-intensity work of the tower was beginning to take its toll. It was time to train a successor.
Coincidentally, his youngest son had just turned fifteen and showed no signs of witch talent. Next month, he would have him learn some basic duties under his guidance.
With that in mind, Camon rounded a corner of a building.
There, due to the angle between the walls, a narrow space often collected a large pile of fallen leaves, making it one of his key inspection points.
He tightened his collar and raised the lamp in his hand. The yellowish glow of the everlit lamp cast distorted shadows into the architectural corner.
Just as he was about to inspect the usual pile of leaves, the silver patterns on the hem of a black robe suddenly caught his eye.
Startled, Camon immediately realized it was an official apprentice.
He reflexively bent at the waist in a ninety-degree bow.
“Greetings, my lord. Lower Steward Camon at your service. I didn’t know you were here. I’ll leave at once.”
Upon encountering a lone witch, never ask what they’re doing and leave immediately this was Camon’s survival rule for over two decades, and it had always worked well.
So, upon seeing a witch standing on the path he routinely checked, his first instinct was to respectfully stay away.
But just as he turned to leave—
“Camon, have you taken care of what I instructed last time?”
The voice, alternating between near and far, seeped out from beneath the hood, instantly sending a cold sweat down the steward’s back.
He strained to recall any recent instructions, but the once-alert mind now felt as though it had been filled with sludge thick and dull.
And worse, he couldn’t even tell which lord was speaking to him.
“My deepest apologies... my lord, I cannot see your face clearly. Would you kindly remind me of the task you assigned to me?”
“To sort through the belongings of a female apprentice named Lucy.”
At that, Steward Camon desperately rummaged through his memories for that matter.
At last, he suddenly remembered that indeed, a few days ago someone had instructed him to clean out a dormitory, and he had immediately assigned the task to a servant named Simone.
But he could not recall whether Simone had ever reported back on the progress of that work.
That lazy Simone, the lowest of swine he would be taught a lesson he would never forget the next time they met.
While cursing the lowly servant Simone in his heart, Steward Camon also knew that he must not speak the truth. Otherwise, he would have to bear the wrath of a witch.
All he could do now was pray that Simone had already finished the task.
“O-of course, my lord! The room you assigned has already been thoroughly cleaned...”
Before he could finish his sentence, the witch apprentice before him suddenly stepped forward and said in a low, heavy voice:
“You’re lying. You never cleaned that room!”
“No, I did...”
“How dare you defile a witch with your lies!”
Steward Camon’s legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees. The fear in his heart shattered his final psychological defense and all remaining hope.
Tears and snot instantly covered his pale face.
“I... no... mercy, Lord Orlando!”
Fear tore apart all reason, and he blurted out the witch’s name.
And the moment he uttered the word "Orlando", the world suddenly peeled away like shattered glass.
The stench of mold and decay invaded his nostrils, and the surroundings abruptly transformed into a dim room piled with broken scraps and rusted metal.
As someone most familiar with the lower levels of the tower, he recognized the place almost immediately.
The underground storeroom for damaged tools how had he ended up here?
Just then, a startled voice came from behind him.
“Steward? Steward Camon!”
Camon turned around in a daze toward the sound.
“Simone!”
Tear-streaked Simone rushed over as if seeing a savior.
“Steward Camon, where is this place? I've been locked in here for several sandglasses! She left some food and said she’d come back to let me out once everything was over...”
“Bring your face closer. I’ll tell you where we are.”
Grinding his teeth, Camon raised his fist and brought it down hard.
Amid Simone’s anguished howls, Steward Camon cursed loudly:
“Simone! You damned—”