Chapter 713
Chapter 713
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 713
Chapter Title: Witch of Gold Coins (9)
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With a snap of her fingers, the curtains began to part for the Witch of Gold Coins, Lydia Magnus.
Seated side by side on the sofas facing the curtains, Si-woo peered out through the glass windows and instantly grasped the location of her bedroom.
"They haven't started yet."
This was Hexennacht's Arcana Town.
More precisely, Almack's Club.
Even more precisely, the auction house where Rinne had once purchased Alice.
And most precisely, the topmost level of the royal boxes spanning from the second to the fourth floors.
Only then did Si-woo realize why the curtains had formed such an odd curve.
Her room, which occupied an entire floor, protruded like a terrace, allowing a view down into the auction hall from anywhere through the glass walls.
The stage and spotlights were prepared as always, but the scene was somewhat different from back then.
First off, the chairs that had filled the first floor like an opera house were gone.
In their place stood a much larger stage, forming a solid platform across the entire ground level.
Naturally, there were no witches seated in chairs either.
However, he could tell that every single VIP seat was occupied—not a one left empty.
Though black curtains draped over each royal box mimicked magical patterns to ensure privacy, they couldn't conceal the sheer density of mana within.
Astonishingly, all sixty attendees were Grand Witches or higher.
It was the first time he'd ever seen so many Grand Witches gathered in one place.
Was this how the scientists felt witnessing the first nuclear test?
Si-woo felt a shiver run down his spine.
He knew better than anyone the power of Grand Witches.
Each one was an asymmetric force capable of toppling a nation single-handedly.
And these were all exiles sharing criminal ideologies or something similar.
There had to be more than a few among them with battle prowess on par with Rinne or Bianca.
Until now, fear of Keter and mutual suspicion had kept them scattered.
But now they'd united. If this much power coalesced around a shared purpose and went rogue, what devastation would it unleash?
"What's this all about?"
"Scared?"
Lydia leisurely tapped ash from her cigarette, her eyes fixed not on the stage but on Si-woo's face.
Scared? Not exactly.
Seeing a scene like this wouldn't suddenly upend the situation anyway.
He was simply overwhelmed upon witnessing with his own eyes what he'd only imagined before.
For instance, if one of these criminals suddenly thought, 'No Keter around, and I'm in a foul mood—might as well wreck America,' and stormed off, how many lives would be lost before her rampage could be stopped?
"A little."
"Impressive, right? No one thought this many ex-Gehenna forces could gather like this after Clifford fell. They're finally savoring the glory they deserved all along."
He could counter that if he wanted, but saw no point.
Lydia didn't seem to expect agreement either; she simply poured champagne into their glasses.
"Thank you."
His mouth was parched, so he lifted the glass to wet his throat.
"To Hexennacht's eternal glory."
"...To that."
Reluctantly, he joined her toast at her prompting.
A fragrant bouquet of premium grapes danced on his tongue, effervescent like stars rolling across it.
"No need to be too scared. As I said, violence is strictly forbidden in Hexennacht. They're all here to have fun—no one's starting a knife fight."
"Then why am I safe?"
"Because it's to my benefit if you are. I told you—our interests still align."
His brow furrowed involuntarily.
This habit of circling around the point instead of getting straight to it wasn't unique to criminals; it was common among many witches.
To uncover truth required effort in kind.
Wanting answers handed over or spelling them out plainly was the crude behavior of the ignorant, unworthy of dignity.
Or so they framed it...
To Si-woo, it just seemed like twisted personalities.
Still, judging by the flow, she probably wouldn't hurl him onto center stage shouting, 'Tonight's item: a male witch!'
"Oh, it's starting."
At Lydia's words, Si-woo looked down while mulling her riddle.
Pop! Pop!
Two witches appeared under the dazzling spotlights.
One with black hair, the other platinum blonde.
Both were strangers to him.
Artifacts around their necks restricted mana flow, capping their output at 15th Hierarchy each.
The spotlights faded as lights illuminated the entire stage, and a powerful barrier to dampen impacts deployed like a fence.
Seeing that, Si-woo immediately thought of one word.
Colosseum.
From a modern perspective, the infamous structure where gruesome spectacles were provided as public entertainment under the guise of festivals.
Gladiator duels to the death were definitely among them.
"They're not killing each other, are they?"
"Heavens, no. These are expensive goods."
Lydia shrugged as if it were absurd, then continued.
"Both are 18th Hierarchy witches. We've limited their hierarchies for safety and stationed a medical team."
Her demeanor at their first meeting, the look of her room—it all painted a clear picture of her type.
"As you see, this is Almack's Club's secret auction. Only top witches can join at exorbitant fees. Mixing entertainment with merchandise is a great way to loosen buyers' purses."
Golden absolutism befitting her moniker.
A cold-blooded businesswoman who weighed only profit and loss.
"Among them, witch-on-witch magic battles are a hit. Good way to inspect the merchandise beforehand. Fights are fun to watch like dogfights, you know?"
Without any frivolous commentary, the two witches standing opposite each other clashed.
The repelling force from their collision scattered in all directions, but the protective barrier shielding the audience held firm.
A clash of surging water and flames racing across the earth.
Both poured every ounce of their limited power into subduing the other.
"They're fighting desperately."
"Just like gladiators of old. Proving their worth is their only shot at survival."
By this point, Si-woo had drawn a firm mental line with her.
No ambiguity like with Dorothy or Rinne.
She was the stereotypical criminal with "brutality" swapped for "calculation."
"Bored? Wanna bet?"
"No thanks."
"I'll go with black hair. You?"
"...Have to take the opposite, then."
"True, it's just us two."
But after the bland joke, Lydia's modest smile felt profoundly dissonant.
She wasn't like Rozé, reveling in others' misery and tragedy.
Nor a sadist like Ea who thrilled in tormenting the weak.
She didn't preach Bianca's peculiar morality that special beings must shed their mundanity.
She simply laughed and chatted guiltlessly over the scene she'd crafted, as if gossiping during a dull animal documentary.
If they'd met by chance, her witty Grand Witch demeanor might have charmed him into seeing her as a fun girl-next-door type.
Yet here was mundane evil enacted with casual normalcy.
Her unfiltered acceptance of the abnormal—like breathing—made her all the more dangerous.
"Sorry for suggesting it, but I'm confident in this bet."
Even now, she spilled trivia as naturally as if they were at a casual drinks session.
Her golden eyes scanned Si-woo up and down.
"I can see the value in an object's essence. So, appraising them: black-haired witch, five gold coins. Platinum blonde, about four. I'll win this one."
No reason to refuse free info from her own mouth.
He nodded along moderately.
"Appraisal magic?"
"A kind of magic."
"Kinda unfair."
Lydia laughed, slapping her forearm.
Her laughter still jingled like a pouch of gold coins.
"Not formalized magic—more like unconscious calculation."
"What do you mean?"
"Never had that gut feeling? Like, 'Something's off.' Not scientifically proven, but usually right."
"Yeah."
Lydia nodded, picking up the thread. "Exactly. I think it's the subconscious aggregating overlooked info from past experience to warn the conscious mind. For that instant, you process beyond normal cognition."
She continued, "I've judged values and tallied profits so long, now I just see sparkling gold coins at a glance. Occupational hazard, but it's a pretty sight."
Curiosity piqued, Si-woo asked,
"So, how many coins do I look like?"
Lydia stared at him intently.
Her sparkling golden eyes narrowed like a jeweler appraising a gem.
And then.
Jingle.
The sound Lydia loved rang out.
One gold coin spun gracefully like a ballerina on the floor, then another.
Jingle jingle jingle.
At first dropping one or two like ripe fruit, then endlessly pouring forth.
The torrent showed no sign of stopping.
Clatterclatterclatter!
Finally, like a slot machine hitting 777 jackpot, a cascade of gold coins rained down in a spectacular shower.
It blanketed the floor and showed no end—enough wondrous "value" to eventually fill the room.
Boom!
As Lydia's lips twitched,
A sudden roar marked the colosseum fight's end.
The platinum blonde writhed on the ground, badly burned.
Winner: the black-haired witch.
Lydia's victory, as predicted.
"I win."
"So you did."
Si-woo had half-expected to lose the bet anyway.
Even in horse racing, condition, bloodline, and temperament were key predictors.
Unlike Si-woo with zero intel, Lydia—the owner—knew her "merchandise" inside out and had picked the winner herself.
All he could do was hope she wouldn't demand too much.
No matter how calm he tried to stay,
Entrusting his safety to another's whim was unnerving.
As Si-woo swallowed hard, Lydia said nonchalantly,
"Ever thought about becoming a woman?"
"........"
What the hell is this crazy bitch on about?