Annan, for safety’s sake, had the "old man" put on iron gloves.
This was a special thod used when imprisoning Ritualists.
No one knew what bizarre and peculiar rituals they had mastered... nor could they predict what seemingly insignificant objects might be used to launch a sudden attack.
But where there was a problem, there was a solution.
The tool specifically designed for Ritualists, was the "Iron Glove."
It was similar to handcuffs, but in front of the handcuffs, a joint-immobilizing iron glove was fitted. The joints of the iron glove were slightly bent, neither touching nor fully opposite, nor were the fingers fully extended.
Such a posture did not et the requirents of any ritual... and as their wrists were locked with handcuffs, the movents of the fingers could not be changed at all.
Only by controlling them with such a device could a Ritualist’s actions be completely obstructed.
——Of course, a more straightforward and safer thod would be to chop off their hands and cut out their tongues.
But Annan didn’t intend to do that.
Because this Ritualist, he seed to be of use...
Annan sat across from the old Ritualist, the "old man" maintaining the state of having his hands locked, and they sat together at the dining table.
The chef had already prepared dinner for Annan.
Annan politely poured a glass of wine for each of them—though the other had absolutely no hands to drink or eat with.
Yet facing such treatnt, the "old man" showed no sign of oddity, just quietly sitting opposite Annan.
"I think, you probably know ."
Annan took a bite of roast at and watched the old Ritualist: "You know what I an."
"Of course, Your Highness Annan," the "old man" answered softly with his head lowered. "I had seen you a few tis when you were little."
"How little?"
Annan countered.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if slightly displeased.
——But in fact, Annan was fishing for information.
The old curse-monger didn’t raise his head to look at Annan but continued to answer, "Around the age of six... and then again at the age of eight, I saw you once each ti. Not long after that, I moved to Noah. Since then, I have only had so correspondence with the ’Lady of the Storm.’
Annan remained silent, quickly calculating in his heart.
The body of Annan Winter was fourteen years old this year. Maria had attended Michelangelo’s ceremony five years ago.
Almost right after that, huh...
Well, that’s good.
It’s good to have seen less of him.
"Maria..."
Annan’s expression was sowhat complicated, and he hesitated to speak.
He looked at the old Ritualist and slowly said, "What do you think of ?"
"You will certainly be our future Duke, the King of Wolves..." the "old man" paused for a mont then continued calmly, "The sole heir to the Dragon Throne."
...Indeed, he knew a great deal.
Annan was deep in thought.
But he didn’t let it show on his face.
He just furrowed his brow slightly, looking seriously at the old Ritualist: "That’s not what I’m talking about... you know that."
And as for what exactly should be understood?
Ha, I don’t even understand it myself.
Annan silently mocked himself.
However, upon hearing Annan’s words, the old Ritualist paused for a mont.
He raised his head as if seeing the future Duke for the first ti, scrutinizing Annan carefully.
And Annan, too, fearlessly held the gaze of his eyes.
After a good while, the old Ritualist’s gaze gradually retreated, and he looked down again.
"I thought you had given up,"
he said softly.
But Annan made no response.
Seeing no answer, the old Ritualist sighed and then continued, "It seems you have succeeded.
"Indeed, the Reversed Inscription... I can feel it, the curse of the Heart of Winter has indeed been resolved by you, Your Highness. Your thod is correct,"
"Correct, huh..."
Annan murmured, shaking his head slightly as if silently denying sothing.
A complex light shone in his eyes as he let out a slow, heavy sigh.
The old Ritualist, raising his head, caught this gesture.
He could only offer reassurance, "You are indeed correct—and didn’t this year you spent searching for Lady Silence also happen to spare you from that disaster? All of this must be fate."
"...Tell more,"
Annan said quietly after a pause.
The old Ritualist complied and spoke in a low voice, "I think you must have heard... in this past year, the Winter family has encountered quite a few calamities. I don’t know if you know... Two months ago, the Rotting Father ca looking again. He was looking for you.
"At that ti, the old grandmother was still in her dragon sleep. Her Highness Maria was still in retreat at Storm Cliff, and His Highness Dmitry was advancing his studies at Frigid Wight Tower. The only one in the throne room was your father..."
"My father, he..."
Annan’s voice trembled slightly.
The old Ritualist paused for a while before answering in a low voice, "His Grace’s condition now is not very good. If you have the chance, I still hope you can go back to see him... I apologize, Your Highness. With my status, I shouldn’t say such things. It’s just—"
"I understand,"
Annan said, nodding slightly.
According to the information he had found, Ivan Winter, though a strict father, was a good ruler. He was known for his fairness and frugality, living and eating with the people even though he was a duke. In the food-scarce duchy of Winter, he never wasted food or was extravagant.
In the public eye, Ivan held very high reputation.
It was normal for the old Ritualist to think like this.
"And then what?"
Annan prompted.
The old man fell silent for a mont, then answered, "I am unsure about what happened after that. Soon after, Winter fully locked down the news. But to my knowledge, at the ti, the Rotting Father seized a thirteen or fourteen-year-old child, and forced him to jump into the Black Sea.
"I think that must have been your decoy... After all, you had left Winter a year ago. And very few people knew about this,"
What, I left Winter a year ago?
Annan frowned slightly, then gradually relaxed his brow.
So that’s how it is, the Reversed Inscription was personally engraved by Lady Silence.
From his words, it seems the young Annan had run away from ho, intending to find Lady Silence himself and ask for the Reversed Inscription to resolve the curse from the Heart of Winter.
But when he woke up, the place he lay was indeed as if he had drifted over from the opposite shore of the Black Sea... A few days ago, when the Rotting Father t with Annan, he indeed admitted that it was he who pushed Annan into the Black Sea. He couldn’t have mistaken the person.
...Could it be that at the ti, Annan had quietly returned to the Royal Capital of Winter, only to be discovered by the following Rotting Father... and thrown into the sea?
Annan realized so detail.
If even "Old Dad" didn’t know that he had returned to the duchy of Winter... that ant most people didn’t know. His return to the country must have been kept secret.
But the Rotting Father knew, and he knew early on.
—What does this imply?
"I want to know... more about Maria,"
Annan inquired softly, "Also, how should I address you? Just ’Old Dad’?"
"By no ans... Her Highness Maria would skin alive if she found out,"
the old Ritualist said with a wry smile, shaking his head repeatedly, "Just call by my na. I am Vasily Manning, You can call Vasily or old Vasily."
"...Manning?"
Annan repeated slowly.
He had a vague impression of that surna...
Vasily nodded, "You must recognize my brother.
"He is rlin Manning, who once served as ’Index of the Right Hand’. He’s my older brother."
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