Chapter 1: Am I Fighting a Witch?

Dong, dong.

A rhythmic knocking sounded from outside the door.

The person inside the room was buried under the covers, struggling on the bed for quite a while before reluctantly speaking up.

“Come in.”

The maid pushed open the door and gave a slight curtsy.

“Good day, young master.”

The one called young master was a youth with brilliant golden hair and deep blue eyes.

By adult standards, his features could be considered youthful, but from a teenager’s perspective, his angular face leaned a bit too much toward maturity.

Ed Grieves had just turned 18 this year.

In front of the maid, this future Duke Grieves let out a big yawn.

“I think… it’s not time for breakfast yet.”

He sat on the edge of the bed in his pajamas, half-lidded eyes looking at the maid.

“If there’s nothing, then wake me up later. Yawn—taking a nap might be a good idea.”

With that, without waiting for the maid’s response, Ed lay straight back down.

“Young master…”

The maid was momentarily choked by his reaction.

“Actually, the lord has something he wants to discuss with you.”

Ed lifted his head from his corpse-like state.

“At this hour, the old man wants me? Did he say what it’s about?”

The maid seemed unsurprised by the term and just shook her head.

“The lord is waiting for you in the study. Please go ask him yourself.”

At this point, Ed finally had to accept a terrifying fact.

He would have to crawl out of his warm bed at five in the morning, without even time for breakfast, just to be dragged by some old man into a conversation with no substance.

“Fine. A disastrous day starts in the morning.”

Ed pursed his lips and propped himself up to get out of bed.

“I’ll change clothes. Wait for me outside.”

The maid bowed her head slightly.

“Yes, young master.”

Ed’s room was some distance from the old duke’s study.

On the way, Ed learned that the maid had only just woken up not long ago, practically dragged out of bed in a daze.

Usually at this time, although some servants in the duke’s mansion were up early, that didn’t include Ed’s personal maid.

Specially calling the little maid to notify him was a first in these past few years.

“What’s the old man up to now.”

Ed muttered, but didn’t think much of it.

In the time it took to chat idly with the little maid, that black door had already appeared before them.

“Young master.” The maid stepped aside, gesturing with a “please” motion. 

“Please go in. The lord has been waiting for a while.”

“Sasha.”

Ed suddenly called the little maid’s name in an incredibly grave tone.

The maid tilted her head.

“What’s wrong, young master?”

“In a bit, if I haven’t come out after more than half an hour.”

He solemnly placed his hands on the maid’s shoulders.

“You have to knock hard on this damn door and loudly tell the old man inside: ‘It’s breakfast time!’ Got it?”

The maid blinked, then suddenly covered her mouth.

“Pfft—”

“Come on—” 

Ed shook the maid’s body vigorously. 

“This isn’t funny at all! Every few days, your young master has to listen to that old man nag for a whole hour. You know how torturous that is!”

“Ed, is that you outside?”

A certain old man’s voice suddenly sounded from behind the black door.

“I’m counting on you, Sasha!”

Ed gave the little maid’s shoulder a final pat, then resolutely walked toward that door.

“Old man, I’m opening the door!”

His voice carried a sense of facing death head-on.

Creak.

Perhaps in his last glance before closing the door, he saw the little maid smiling and nodding, which finally eased Ed’s heart a little.

Bang.

Once inside, he looked around.

It was the same as always.

Aside from a long desk for work, tall bookshelves filled with various books, and that black sword hanging on the wall alongside the family banner for who knows how many years, the spacious study had no extra decorations.

In Ed’s own view, it was barely acceptable.

But the thought that this would one day be his own office filled Ed with an involuntary sense of sorrow.

Why, you ask?

Just look at the man in his forties with a full head of white hair right in front of you.

This old man also timely lifted his head from a pile of documents.

“Ed, sit down.”

Hell, it’s starting.

Ed pulled out the chair opposite the old man and sat down with a tragic resolve.

But unexpectedly, the old man—Storn Grieves—didn’t immediately start his usual lecture. Instead, he just silently stared at Ed until it made him uneasy, prompting him to speak first.

“Old man, if you have something to say, say it. Don’t look at your son like that, okay?”

“In those words, I don’t hear the respect and understanding a son should have for his father.”

The old man snorted lightly.

But those words actually made Ed relax.

Sure enough, in the next ten minutes, the old man began rambling on about the difficulties of managing the territory, hoping Ed would familiarize himself with a duke’s daily routine soon to share some of the burden.

“Old man, you’ve repeated these same old lines who knows how many times. Can’t you talk about something else?”

Ed slumped over the desk, impatiently interrupting a certain duke’s nagging.

The old man glared at him.

“You brat, I’m saying this for your own good. And fix your attitude—you’re an adult now, but you still act like a kid every day.”

Ed propped his chin with his hand, barely making himself look a bit more “proper.”

“I mean, old man, you know I don’t have the talent for managing a territory.”

“Of course I know.”

The old man sighed unusually.

“But I really have no choice.”

At this point, the old and young pair in the room suddenly fell into a strange silence.

Ed knew the old man was telling the truth.

In this generation of the Grieves family, he was the only direct heir, an only child. 

If Ed gave up inheriting the title, the hereditary rights would have to fall to some distant collateral branches.

For the old man, who valued bloodlines greatly, that would be pure blasphemy against the Grieves family.

But Ed also knew his own limits. If it was swordsmanship or magic, he could chat enthusiastically about it, but when it came to territory management, he was like a farmer who’d never left the fields seeing a book for the first time, entering a state of “Who am I, where am I, what am I doing?”

Inheriting the duke’s position in that state would surely make him the laughingstock.

“Ed.”

The old man across from him suddenly spoke, pulling Ed back from his wandering thoughts.

“I’ve thought it over carefully. Since you don’t want to inherit this title, I can’t force you too much.”

Ed sat up straight abruptly.

“Old man, you’ve finally come around?”

“What do you mean I’ve come around?” 

The old man shot him a fierce glance.

“I just suddenly feel that having a second choice in life isn’t bad. No need to force it.”

“Father.”

Ed nodded solemnly. 

“I think so too. It’s rare for us father and son to agree.”

“Now you know to call me father?” 

The old man couldn’t help but blow his beard and glare.

“And don’t get too excited yet. I can’t just let you go off and fool around.”

“You speak, I’m listening.”

Ed assumed a posture of attentive listening.

“How’s your swordsmanship and magic training going?” the old man suddenly asked.

Ed hesitated and thought for a moment.

“It should… be okay, I guess.”

The old man lowered his head in contemplation.

After a while, he spoke slowly.

“Ed, I have a trial for you to complete. If you succeed, I’ll personally teach you a few moves and let you go out to make your own way.”

“Old man, you’re serious?”

Ed looked at the old man in surprise.

“I thought you were just joking… Ouch!”

“Too much nonsense.” 

The old man retracted the cane he’d used to rap Ed on the head. 

“Give me a straight answer. Do you want this chance or not?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ed quickly agreed.

That was a chance to be personally taught by one of the empire’s three sword masters, the Wind Sword—Storn Grieves. Even for Ed, it was a rare opportunity to receive his guidance.

After all, the old man had always trained Ed in the direction of a duke’s heir. 

His swordsmanship instruction was limited to the “superficial” basics, and magic was entirely self-taught by Ed.

As for the chance to go out and adventure, that was even more unthinkable.

Ed dreamed of getting far away from this duke’s position.

A hint of a smile finally appeared on the old man’s aged face. 

He pulled out a sheet from the pile of documents on the desk and handed it to Ed. 

“Then take a look at this first.”

“This is…”

Ed took it, scanned it roughly, and suddenly looked up. 

“A witch bounty?”

“That’s right.” 

The old man nodded. 

“According to the church, a silver-haired, red-eyed witch has appeared in the capital of the Nordvian Kingdom in the western part of the continent, that seaside city—Hilos.”

“They’re short on people right now, so they’ve urgently issued a witch bounty, hoping someone can handle this threat for them.”

Ed set down the parchment bounty and looked at his father. The aged man turned, taking down from the wall that sword which had never been drawn in his sight.

He remembered it was the old man’s personal sword from his youth when he slayed demons, supposedly stained with enough blood to dye a river red.

“So, old man, what do you want me to do?” 

Ed scratched his head. 

“You’re even bringing out this sword? It can’t be some high-danger mission, right?”

The old man ignored Ed. 

He just held the sword, his expression growing more solemn, his aged face showing no extra emotional fluctuations.

“Ed, remember the following words firmly in your heart.”

He said, solemnly using both hands to present the sword before Ed.

“Your mission is—”

His voice was extremely low.

“To kill that witch.”