Witch Taming System-Chapter 62: Arondight

Reward.

There was only one thing Lancel wanted.

"Freedom."

He wanted his freedom back.

He wanted to be free from the chains that bound him to this city, to stop being treated as something owned, something used, and become his own person again.

"If possible, I’d like to have my status as a ’research asset’ revoked."

Lancel knew Gretelle held a position similar to Faust.

If both of them pushed for it, even without a Duchess stepping in, there might have been a chance to overturn it through a formal petition.

"Research asset?" Countess Gretelle tilted her head. "You’re a registered research asset?"

"Yes. I’ve had some... issues with Angelica Eisenreich."

"Countess Angelica? My, you do have quite the connections."

Unfortunately, the answer that followed did not change.

"But I’m afraid that’s beyond my scope."

"...Worth a try, I guess."

"What I can offer you, however, is protection. To ensure you’re treated as something more than just a ’research asset’ within this city."

She set her teacup down, fixing her gaze on Lancel as she continued.

"With the backing of the Gretelle County, witches won’t act against you lightly. You likely already have some degree of protection under Countess Lieber, but with two Countesses supporting you, it should grant you a certain level of standing."

A kind of pseudo-status.

"But this alone isn’t a reward befitting the Gretelle County," Countess Gretelle added. "It is only natural that you would be granted protection for saving my dear Fiore. Would you be satisfied with a monetary reward instead?"

Lancel paused for a moment.

Truthfully, there wasn’t much to consider.

A monetary reward did sound appealing. But at the same time, it wouldn’t change much.

Someone like him didn’t have access to the higher-tier markets to begin with. Those were reserved for witches.

Money alone wouldn’t bridge that gap.

"Could I ask for... an artifact?"

"An artifact?"

"A weapon I could use, perhaps."

"Oh, that’s simple."

With that, Lancel was led to the treasury.

* * *

Countess Gretelle was known as the Witch of Blaze.

Her master, the previous Witch of Blaze, had been infamous for her greed. She had a fixation on anything that sparkled and hoarded treasures out of obsession.

It was said she had gone as far as to bargain with Cyrene herself over the rights to a particular magic staff crafted from the bark of the Tree of Genesis. A tree that no one could cut.

Not even the most powerful witches could bring it down. At best, only a single kilogram of wood could be obtained, and even that required a full century to chip away.

Because of that, Lancel had no real expectations of what awaited him.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. A witch having a treasury didn’t seem like anything special.

Until he thought about it more carefully.

Neither Faust nor Angelica had a treasury of their own, despite all three witches, Faust, Angelica, and Gretelle, holding the same rank in status.

At that, a sense of anticipation stirred within him.

"Here we are."

Lancel lifted his gaze.

One moment, they had been walking through the Gretelle Mansion’s hallway.

The next, without any clear transition, they stood in an entirely different space. A void filled with glittering and sparkling objects scattered in every direction.

Countess Gretelle let out a small sigh.

"...My predecessor never did anything halfway."

Countess Gretelle extended a hand toward empty space.

At that moment, the surface fractured, as if the air itself had taken on form. It cracked and split apart. Light spilled through in layers, tunneling outward in countless colors.

———!

In the next instant, they were somewhere else.

The treasury.

The entire room gleamed. A space dominated by gold and diamonds, with each surface reflecting light from every angle.

"Take your time," Gretelle said. "I’ll wait here. You may take two items of your choosing."

"...Anything?"

Truthfully, Gretelle had little attachment to what remained here. The artifacts held value, but not importance. At most, they served as something to be sold off in case of emergency. That was the extent of her interest in them.

"Yes," she replied. "One for saving my apprentice. And another for defeating Dua Evangelist."

She gestured forward, prompting him to move.

"Ah, and after this, Fiore wishes to speak with you."

Lancel nodded before stepping ahead.

His gaze moved across the space.

Countless artifacts stretched out in every direction. It was the kind of collection that any merchant or noble from the Human Empire would have drooled over.

There, resting atop a pedestal, was a slender blade with a blue hue. Not far from it was a ring encased in glass with a dull, black gem at its center that seemed to swallow the light around it.

Further ahead, a staff leaned against a marble stand. There were intricate patterns carved on its surface that pulsed, as if something within it was still alive.

Beside it, a cloak draped over a golden rack. Its fabric kept swaying unnaturally, like it refused to stay still.

And then, slightly apart from the rest, a blade lay embedded in stone.

It didn’t shine like the others. It didn’t draw attention through brilliance or excess.

And yet, for Lancel, it stood out the most.

Seeing it, Lancel recalled that fantasy.

The Fall of Camelot. A story he had only ever known as fiction. The tale of the mythical king, Artorius, who had pulled a sword from a stone, proving himself as the true king of Brinte.

That blade in front of him felt eerily similar.

Lancel found himself stepping closer without thinking.

Slowly, his footsteps closed the distance, his gaze fixed on the blade as his hand lowered slightly as if he were drawn toward it.

"...Arondight."

Runic markings were carved along the blade. They were symbols he shouldn’t have understood.

And yet, the moment his eyes traced over them, the word left his lips before he could stop it.

Slowly, Lancel pulled the sword free from the stone.

There was no sense of rejection or anything that suggested it required worthiness like the blade from Artorius’s tale. It came out easily.

And yet, the moment it left the stone, the runic markings along its surface began to glow.

Whoosh——!

Lancel gave it a few test swings. The weight felt right. Even the balance felt right.

It was strange.

The blade moved naturally in his hands, as if it had always belonged there, as if he had wielded it countless times before.

Lancel paused for a moment, tightening his grip as he tried to make sense of it.

There had been moments where Lancel used a sword during certain contract missions. Even so, he had never grown accustomed to it in the same way he had with daggers.

It had always been a matter of preference.

A dagger was small, easy to conceal, and could be tucked away without notice.

And more importantly, it killed just as effectively with a single, decisive strike.

Of course, against larger weapons like swords, lances, or axes, it was at a disadvantage.

But that only mattered in a fight.

Lancel rarely fought.

His hands had always been meant for taking lives instead.

And for that purpose, a dagger had always been more than enough.