Bab 53: Cry Me A Grimoire

Ethan did some research at the library before setting out with the rescue party. Guilds were not independent but government-regulated groups. They received aid from the crown for their daily expenses. However, some were so wealthy that they rejected outside contributions.

Six major guilds were prominent in Promiscua—DeepThrush, Lionfang, Mystic Hand, Zoolopia, Kendra, and Namikaze. DeepThrush was exceedingly prosperous and owned more gold than the Cromwell treasury.

"We didn't leave," Beatrix replied bitterly. "I was kicked out."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. Could the misfit duo be troublemakers? "Why?"

"Sorry, I won't share any more details. It is personal."

"I see. But as a prospective employer, I need to know the history of the applications before hiring them—"

"I'd rather be rejected," the witch replied sharply without even pausing to think.

"Bea practiced grimoire magic openly," Athena butted in. "The crown's agents, and the guild association, both denounced her. She was publicly humiliated and made to resign from DeepThrush."

"What's wrong with you?" the witch exclaimed at her friend. "Why did you have to reveal our secrets to the Count? He hasn't even hired us yet!"

"It's public knowledge," came the reply. Athena's revelation drew suppressed laughter from the escort soldiers. Getting kicked out of a prosperous guild was a fall from grace worth ridicule.

While Beatrix rained abuses on her talkative friend, Ethan listened to their banter thoughtfully. He remembered reading about grimoire magic in the library books, but the information lacked details. However, the boy owned a journal called the Grimorium Lustra by Cassandra. It was clearly a grimoire. Was it a wrong decision to keep the book?

"I don't want to know what you did," Ethan said sincerely. "But can you tell me why the crown banned grimoire magic? How dangerous is it?"

Athena and Beatrix exchanged silent glances. "The answer to your question lies in the word itself, Count Cromwell."

Ethan furrowed his brows. "You mean the word 'grimoire'? I don't understand. Isn't it meant to be a journal or personal diary?"

The little witch half-turned to cast a petrifying glance at the Cromwell heir from the corner of her eyes. "A grimoire is not just a regular journal. It is a dead witch's journal."

Ethan was immediately reminded of the scene in the dining halls when he spied on Beatrix writing in a strange notebook. "The black book you were scribbling on was—"

"My grimoire, yes… The category of magic was only recently banned. Writing grimoires has been my family tradition for centuries, dating back to our ancestor, the Great Cassandra Galore…"

The Cromwell heir bit his lip anxiously. "Do you, by any chance, know where Cassandra's grimoire is?"

Beatrix laughed aloud. "Who knows? It was lost after the Great Religious War, and most likely destroyed. Why do you ask?"

"Never mind. So, that was the reason you two girls were kicked out of DeepThrush guild?"

The witch shook her head bitterly and pointed at Athena. "I got kicked out. That meaty girl over there who devours food as much as three grown women wasn't. She quit the guild and followed me like a lost cow!"

"Stop calling me a cow!" Athena protested with the shake of a balled fist. "I don't eat as much as three, dammit!"

"Oh, really?" Beatrix asked with a naughty smirk. "Then why don't you tell our host your full name?"

The female warrior became silent abruptly. She put on the armor's helmet to hide her face.

"What is your full name?" Ethan asked curiously.

"It is not important…" Athena's muffled voice replied from within the helmet. She appeared to be having a nervous breakdown on the inside.

"I considered paying gold as a daily wage during our travels. However, that would require you to sign invoices with your full name. If you aren't comfortable, I'll cancel the payments."

The young warrior's armor rattled as she tried to resist the temptation. "Alright! My name is… Athena… Latina… Ravina…"

Beatrix broke into laughter, and the guards accompanying them joined her.

"Athena Latina Ravina?"

"What sort of name is that?"

"Why would anybody's parents play such a prank on their children?"

Ethan fought to suppress a snigger and tried comforting the beauty. "It's different. But could you tell me why you carry such a DIFFERENT name?"

Athena sighed and removed her helm. "My mother wanted three beautiful babies—all girls to grow up as magazine models. She was a big fan of DAMSEL WEEKLY. She chose a tall, handsome wrestler's sperm and used expensive witch magic to inseminate herself with triplets."

The Cromwell heir raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Just because Athena's mother had the means to manipulate life, was it moral to do so? What if the child turned out deformed, or dead? Luckily, it had churned out a beautiful blonde woman.

"You clearly didn't go the magazine model route. What happened to your sisters? Did they become magazine models?"

Beatrix exploded with laughter. "She ate her siblings in the womb!"

Athena covered her face in shame. The escorts also joined in the laughter.

Ethan did find the entire thing humorous, but he also developed an intrigue towards Athena. The freaking woman ripped an eight-foot-tall concrete statue from its foundation and threw it across the garden. Moreover, she was stunning to look at. The beauty deserved some appreciation for her magnificent genes!

Ethan turned to the sniggering Beatrix. "Enough! Could you answer my original question? Why is writing a grimoire for yourself such an issue?"

"A dead witch's journal could be a useful guide for her descendants or pupils," he added. "I don't really see why the Guilds Association or the Crown banned the category of magic. It's ridiculous, and rather discriminatory towards witches."

The entire rescue team stopped laughing and went awkwardly silent. The commander, Elf Greta, spoke up. "Young Count… Don't you know? Writing a grimoire is banned because it is dark, forbidden resurrection magic. Most witches lack the talent to complete the ritual, anyway."

"Resurrection?"

"Yes. A grimoire can revive a dead witch even after ages of her passing," Greta added. "It grants tremendous power even while she is alive, writing it. However, nature demands a heavy sacrifice from the author of the dark journal."

Ethan's gaze lowered to the adorable girl riding the same horse as him. Beatrix was silent with an intense expression. The boy had an overwhelming urge to hug her like a teddy bear but resisted it. "What is the sacrifice?"

Greta's tone turned towards disdain. "A healthy witch cannot write a grimoire. She has to complete an unthinkable and disgusting ritual to become cursed with the most heinous affliction known to Promiscua."

"You mean the Chaste Devil's curse?" Ethan asked in shock. "But it affects only—"

"Males, yes," the Elf replied grimly. "However, grimoire magic's rituals, mostly sexual, are so powerful they can transmit the curse to a female through debauchery."

"Your future teacher, Beatrix Galore, must indulge in the most hardcore and sadistic lovemaking activities known to the world. She must continue this until he dies of genital drainage and bodily exhaustion. That is the only way to steal the fertile male's curse."

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