Home/The Reason I Was Reincarnated as a Witch in a Novel/ch 17

 Chapter 017

The farm was bustling through its busy morning. Meanwhile, in the capital, the Perdeus townhouse was as deathly silent as ever.

Mikael Perdeus, the sole master of the quiet mansion, frowned at the sunlight streaming through the window.

The concerns that had plagued him all night still had no clear answer by morning.

Mikael averted his gaze from the communication device sitting on the corner of his desk and gave an order to his subordinate guarding the door outside.

"Aiden. Send word to the Marquess of Nofen that I will be visiting this morning, and have the carriage prepared."

The office door opened, and Aiden poked his head through with a mischievous grin.

"The one with lace trimming, I presume?"

At Aiden's lighthearted remark, the maids cleaning the corridor outside the office shrank back.

The maids, who knew that the lace-trimmed carriage was the dowager duchess's old coach, paled visibly.

Mikael suppressed a sigh and repeated his order to his prankster subordinate.

"Have the carriage without lace wait for me. And tell Orca to come to the office."

"What has that crazy mage done this time? Didn't he cause an incident just last week?"

The reason he had summoned Orca was to inquire about the progress of a task he had assigned at dawn. Normally, he would have given at least a brief explanation, but with an important decision looming, Mikael had no patience as usual.

"Aiden."

"Yes, yes. I'm going now. Going."

At Mikael's curt tone, Aiden quickly slipped out of the office.

After Aiden left, Mikael, now alone in the office, pulled out a pendant he always carried. Over the years, the pendant that had once filled both palms now left room in a single hand.

His scarred fingers opened the pendant's lid, revealing a small portrait. In it, a fairy-like girl with delicate features smiled brightly.

Mikael traced the child's image with his eyes, careful not to further damage the worn edges of the old, frayed portrait.

Hair reminiscent of flames. Eyes like a clear blue sky. A white face that always smiled brightly at him.

If not for her terrible illness, the girl in the portrait would have made a dazzling debut into society, captivating the hearts of noble young men.

The mere thought stirred murderous intent—but it was now a wish he only dared to dream of. That his friend, afflicted by a cruel disease, would recover completely, leave her gilded cage, and spread her wings toward the world.

You don't have to stay by my side. Even if it breaks my heart to see you with another man, I can let you go. I just want you to live, Aria.

Mikael thought of the woman more precious to him than his own life. He had no choice but to watch her vibrant face gradually lose its vitality.

To treat Aria, who kept saying she was fine, he needed to meet the witch. But he couldn't risk Aria's safety carelessly.

Knock knock.

A low voice came from beyond the door, accompanied by the sound of knocking.

"My lord. It's Orca. May I enter?"

Mikael cast aside his thoughts and closed the pendant's lid. He tucked the pendant into his bosom and granted Orca permission to enter.

"I heard you called for me."

Orca entered the office, bowed his head in greeting, and immediately got to the point. He abhorred wasting time.

Mikael respected—and appreciated—that value of his. Their conversations moved quickly, without the need for empty flourishes.

"Did you find the owner of the mana?"

Despite the calm question, urgency bled through. Orca kept his eyes on the floor beyond the red carpet and answered.

"I apologize. I have not found them yet."

"The search range covered so far?"

"There was no one matching the mana registered in the capital."

Mikael made a low sound and irritably stroked his chin. Everyone entering the capital had to pass through the checkpoint—nobles, commoners, knights, and even mages were no exception.

Those who triggered the detection devices installed at the checkpoint—designed to identify mana holders above a certain threshold—were required to register their mana with the Imperial Magic Research Institute.

It was an emergency measure imposed by the Imperial court after a series of terrorist attacks by mana holders in the capital.

He had assumed that by comparing the residual mana left after the witch's spellwork with the mana registered in the capital, he could quickly uncover her identity. But matters had taken an unexpected turn.

"The possibility that she took measures to avoid tracking?"

"There is a slim possibility, but the assumption that she is unregistered is more plausible. The mana orbs are a recent development by the Imperial Magic Research Institute—she likely wouldn't have anticipated them."

The mana orb was a newly developed magical tool capable of determining whether a person or mana signature matched the mana it had absorbed.

The performance had already been verified by Mikael and his subordinates, so as Orca said, it was highly probable that the witch was an unregistered mage.

Mikael reviewed the information about the witch to determine the next search scope.

The witch contacted her broker more than three times a week, and produced potions that even his house mages had never seen before. She had remained composed even during an unexpected encounter, suggesting she had hidden tricks up her sleeve.

And most importantly, she had confidently asserted that she could make the cure described in the Marquess of Nofen's classified documents—a potion that even the very source who had provided the documents had deemed impossible and given up on. Yet she was an unregistered mage?

Mikael traced the chain of questions and speculated on their answers. Orca, who had been waiting for orders, offered one opinion.

"How about checking the mages affiliated with the Magic Tower in the capital?"

"Touching the Magic Tower is dangerous."

Mages affiliated with the Magic Tower were the only ones who could pass through the checkpoint without registering their mana. But now was not a good time to meddle with the Tower.

The Tower Master, who had been in seclusion for years, had resumed public activities. Word had even spread that he had entered the capital during the Founding Festival.

Rather than poke the sleeping dragon's reverse scale, it would be better to give up the pursuit and focus on protecting Aria. Should I abandon the chase?

Just as a shadow fell over Mikael's face, Orca appeared to have remembered something and cautiously spoke.

"Captain. There are mages who don't get flagged at the checkpoint. And some of them partially fit the conditions you mentioned."

"How can they avoid the checkpoint?"

In the early days, there were loopholes—if one depleted all their mana and passed through the checkpoint, they could evade the detection devices. But after multiple such cases were discovered and the devices were upgraded, those loopholes were closed.

"There are often mages with naturally low mana reserves who brew potions or craft cheap magical tools for a living."

There were those born with the basic prerequisite of being a mage—mana—but whose capacity fell short of even the detection device's threshold. Having trained in beginner grimoires, they realized their limits and chose a path other than the pursuit of truth.

"They call themselves alchemists."

After hearing the explanation, Mikael's eyes moved carefully. There was no way a mage who used a permanent barrier was only at that level. But with no better options, it was right to try everything possible.

"Resume the search, targeting the capital's alchemists."

"Yes, Captain."

Orca bowed deeply and left the office.

Mikael fixed his gaze on the clock hanging on the wall and fell into thought for a moment. Then, as if resolved, he rose from his seat and opened the office door.

The maids who had overheard Aiden's bold remark had apparently finished their cleaning—the corridor was empty. Mikael walked down the hall, devoid of even a single servant, his face expressionless.

He descended the stairs with familiar steps. Only after reaching the first floor from the third-floor office did he encounter any staff. The servant, meeting Mikael's eyes, bowed his head and trembled violently.

Though it was a breach of etiquette, Mikael did not fault the servant. He simply asked, indifferent:

"The carriage?"

"The c-carriage is waiting at the front gate, with the coachman ready to depart at any time, my lord."

The stammering servant went pale and froze in place, uncertain what to do. The duke had already passed him and was heading for the entrance, but the servant remained rooted to the spot until the butler came and addressed him.

"Thomson. His Lordship has gone—attend to your duties now."

"Y-yes, sir! Butler."

The ducal butler, Antonio, watched Thomson scurry away and let out a faint sigh. Ten years had passed, but the scars of the ducal house had yet to heal.

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