Hecate’s Revelation and a Dinner Invitation

Frank regained his composure, tuning out Hecate’s voice as he resumed sweeping.

“Little Frank, have you heard? In the neighboring townships of Juneburg, there’s a settlement known as Hammer Town. Abundant in mineral resources, it’s renowned for its alchemist craftsmen, essentially serving as Juneburg’s outlying manufacturing hub.”

“Those hard calluses between your thumbs—unless you simply rubbed them into existence out of boredom—then they must be the marks of a craftsman, born from countless blows?”

Frank tightened his grip on the broom. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“It doesn’t matter if *you* don’t understand; *I* understand perfectly well,” Hecate remarked cryptically. “And that’s all that truly matters.”

Frank cast his gaze downward, his tension visibly mounting.

“However, your calluses are remarkably pale. Any craftsman who’d genuinely plied their trade for two years wouldn’t have such faint marks.” Hecate let out a derisive chuckle. “Little Frank, it seems even in your hometown, you were nothing more than an idle good-for-nothing.”

“N-no, that’s not it…”

“Craftsmen from Hammer Town don’t typically have the standing to take on individual commissions within the city—at least, *you* certainly don’t,” Hecate said, her gaze fixed on the hem of his garment. “So, where are your companions?”

“Even with companions, I doubt a few kindred spirits like yourselves would be content with honest craftsmanship, would you? Having finally made it to the city, you saw how easily gold could be acquired and decided to try your hand at a quick score?”

She took a delicate sniff of the air. “A faint scent of blood. No time to wash it off, then?”

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Frank stammered, trembling.

“I know you didn’t kill anyone; otherwise, you wouldn’t be quaking in your boots like this, Little Frank.” Hecate’s voice dropped to a low, amused chuckle. “Your companions… or perhaps, your *accomplices*—what thoughts raced through your mind as they perished before your very eyes?”

“Even when their true name is spoken aloud, few react with such profound terror as you do. You must be terrified of discovery, aren’t you? Is someone out there pursuing you?”

Hecate’s expression shifted to one of sudden, dawning realization, and she drawled languidly:

“Poor, pathetic Little Frank. Brought to the city by your town’s elders to labor, only to find the work too grueling, the pay too meager. So, you and a few other restless youths hatched a scheme to try your luck at something more… lucrative.”

“Alas, the city’s machinations proved too intricate; a single misstep, and you tumbled into a pitfall. Your companions perished, and you found yourself hunted. Then, by sheer chance, you stumbled upon an ambiguous yet highly lucrative job, deciding to risk everything for the funds needed to flee.”

“Am I right, Little Frank?”

“Aaaahhh!!”

****

Having concluded his day’s duties, Sir Olcott brewed himself a cup of black tea and settled contentedly into his armchair.

With a new, reliable jailer now in place, his own tenure was nearing its end. A bright, promising future awaited him, un…

“Trouble, sir, grave trouble! Something has happened at Prison Zero!”

What?!

Sir Olcott shot to his feet, a thunderous stomp resounding from his boot. The subordinate who’d delivered the news saw nothing but a blur, a streak of black lightning, before Sir Olcott vanished from the room.

Only a cracked footprint remained etched into the floorboards.

****

Within Prison Zero, a layer of dust coated the floor, unswept. The broom lay discarded, and streaks of blood marred the walls.

The witch Hecate sat serenely in the center of her cell, her six chains utterly still, as if the tranquility had never been disturbed.

“What in the blazes happened?” Sir Olcott demanded, his voice a low rumble.

“How should *I* know?” Hecate recounted airily. “Your newly appointed jailer, while sweeping, suddenly went quite mad, insisting on storming my cell, as if to strike me or some such absurdity. He merely collided with the ward, was repelled, and then made his hasty retreat.”

Sir Olcott pressed his temples, a headache beginning to throb. “Why would he attack you without provocation? What did you say to him?”

“What *could* I have said to him? I know nothing at all.” The gray-haired maiden shrugged her slender shoulders, feigning innocence.

Sir Olcott found himself momentarily speechless.

“Furthermore, I believe you, Sir Knight, should seriously ponder this: the previous girl performed her duties for days without incident, yet the moment *he* arrived, chaos erupted.” Hecate blinked slowly. “Perhaps, Sir Knight, you ought to consider your *own* culpability in this matter?”

“What has that got to do with *me*?” Sir Olcott retorted, a wry, exasperated smile playing on his lips. “Even if the new recruit is problematic, surely that’s not my fault?”

“Wasn’t it your haphazard decision to switch personnel that caused this?”

Sir Olcott’s face darkened as he paced before the cell. “I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on that girl.”

“Because she’s utterly adorable,” Hecate replied without a flicker of hesitation. “Don’t you agree?”

Sir Olcott fell silent for a moment.

‘She *was* indeed quite adorable, and strikingly beautiful. But for a being of *her* power and intellect, such a superficial reason felt… disingenuous, almost mocking.’

“Sir Olcott, if my memory serves, your tenure here is drawing to a close, isn’t it?” Hecate murmured softly. “For this remaining span, why don’t we endeavor to make things mutually agreeable?”

“Who can predict your intentions?” Sir Olcott countered. “Should anything go awry, I’ll be irrevocably implicated.”

“I can promise you I won’t depart before your term concludes,” Hecate tilted her head slightly. “Does that suffice?”

Sir Olcott pondered, his expression grim, for a considerable moment, before finally stating, “I will require some time to locate her.”

“Then before you locate her, I shall trouble you to personally deliver my meals, Sir Knight.”

“Farewell.”

Sir Olcott arrived like a flash of lightning, and departed with similar speed.

He simply couldn’t tolerate remaining there; the witch was far too vexing with her passive-aggressive remarks.

****

Today, the guesthouse in the city’s south side was bustling, especially the neighboring unit, where the clatter of pots and pans, along with the sounds of wood being piled and fires lit, grew quite loud.

Iordera, unaware of the situation, took a detour to return to her own lodging.

“Nina, Yuna, I’m home!”

The two maids remained sprawled motionless on the sofa.

“I’m home,” Iordera said, weaving between them. “Hello? I’m home!”

“We know, we know,” Nina said languidly. “The young mistress has returned. Perhaps we should set off some fireworks in celebration, yes?”

Yuna smacked her lips. “A grand sedan chair, to welcome the young mistress back to her room.”

Iordera let out an exasperated chuckle. *Goodness, they’re acting as if it’s my fault.*

“There’s no need for such theatrics, but shouldn’t you two be doing something productive, like heating up dinner?” She glanced toward the kitchen. “You haven’t prepared dinner, have you? The stove is cold.”

Nina slowly sat up. “Don’t worry, Young Mistress, someone is treating us tonight.”

“Treating us? Who?”

Yuna pointed next door.

“Uncle Andrew?”

“Yes, Uncle Andrew,” Nina explained. “His co-workers are having a get-together tonight, and they’ve set up a space next door. He invited us and the landlord to join them for dinner.”

“There’s roasted meat and wine,” Yuna added.

Iordera nodded, then roused the two maids. “Well, don’t just sit there. We can’t go empty-handed. Get up and tidy yourselves, and see if there’s anything we can bring along.”