Chapter Sixty-One: Not a Word of Truth

“What ownership are you talking about? Boy, explain yourself!”
As soon as Chelsberg heard Weir's words, a hint of vigilance sparked within him. He eyed Weir warily and demanded clarification.
“Heh, Count, who do you think the artifact belongs to?”
Weir let out a faint laugh, posing a question in return. “Let me think. Right now, the royal family and the Soul Sanctuary are vying for the artifact, so in the end, it will either go to the royals or the Sanctuary. But, Count, do you truly believe the artifact should belong to either the royal family or the Soul Sanctuary?”
“Speak clearly! Boy!”
Chelsberg felt a sudden tightness in his chest, an uneasy premonition rising within him. He hurriedly pressed Weir for details.
“My meaning is already clear enough. Must the artifact be owned only by the royal family or the Soul Sanctuary?”
Weir’s intentions could not be clearer: he wanted a stake in the artifact.
“Hmph, boy, do you think you’re qualified to obtain the artifact?”
As a count of the Vera Empire, Chelsberg naturally sided with the royal family. He snorted coldly, his tone laced with disdain. Yet, before he could finish his words, Weir interrupted him with an oddly mocking voice, “Qualification? And do the royals or the Soul Sanctuary truly have the right to claim the artifact? If we’re talking about qualification, the Magic Guild should have the greatest claim!”
“What do you mean?!”

The mention of the Magic Guild made Chelsberg suddenly uneasy. He instinctively glanced at Procis, who had already sat upright, elegantly adjusting her enormous hat with two slender fingers, revealing a hint of her alluring red lips.
“Chelsberg, do you know the origin of the artifact? That artifact is called the Losyzigel Staff, forged a millennium ago by a master dwarf at the peak of his craft, using his own flesh as sacrifice and his soul as the staff’s spirit.”
At this point, Procis paused, noting Chelsberg’s dismissive expression with a cold laugh. “What’s this? You think the staff’s origin has nothing to do with the Magic Guild? Hmph, if you truly believe that, you’re gravely mistaken. Chelsberg, do you know who the first owner of the Losyzigel Staff was? That staff’s first master was a renowned mage of the magical continent! After his death, the staff was entrusted to the Magic Guild, to be held by each subsequent guild master. For centuries, the Losyzigel Staff was the emblem of the Magic Guild! So, if we’re talking about rightful ownership, reclaiming the staff is practically the Guild’s birthright!”
Hearing Procis’ words, Chelsberg’s heart immediately began to churn. The royal family sought the artifact merely to suppress the Soul Sanctuary, which spread its influence across the continent in the guise of religion, manipulating the hearts of the people. The best way to strike against the Sanctuary was to tamper with the gods they preached. The appearance of the Losyzigel Staff gave the royal family a perfect opportunity, and now their struggle with the Sanctuary over the staff had become utterly irreconcilable. If the Magic Guild were to intervene at this moment…
With this thought, Chelsberg resolved even more firmly that Procis must not be allowed to meddle in these affairs!

“That’s merely your biased assertion!...”
“It’s not just bias.”
Before the fat count could finish, Weir cut him off, “The Losyzigel Staff has been held by eight people over the centuries. Each owner carved their name into the staff. The first was Glepsegi, the second was Brastino, the third was... And most importantly, all eight were mages!”
Weir’s words stunned not only Chelsberg, but even Procis was taken aback. She, as the Magic Guild’s master, had never heard such details before!

In truth, the staff had not eight but nine bearers—the ninth being Weir himself.

Chelsberg had not anticipated matters would escalate so far. He lowered his head, sinking into deep thought, while Procis nonchalantly placed her arm across Weir’s shoulder and, in a whisper, asked, “Boy, how do you know such things?”

“I made it up.”
Weir answered carelessly, and Procis, discerning the falsehood, paid him no mind. She continued, “What’s your real purpose, then? You don’t truly intend to claim the Losyzigel Staff, do you?”
“Of course not. The staff rightly belongs to the Magic Guild. As a mage of the Guild, it’s only fitting for me to act in its interest, with not a shred of selfishness!”
Weir replied without hesitation, striving to sound selfless. Yet what awaited him was a sharp rap from Procis.

“Scoundrel! Not a word of truth from you!”
Procis cursed under her breath, but moments later, she unexpectedly broke into laughter, patting Weir’s shoulder, “Still, it sounds amusing enough. Let’s play along, since it’s originally the Guild’s property… But let me warn you first, boy: if you try any tricks, I’ll kill you on the spot!”

As Procis uttered those final words, “I’ll kill you on the spot,” Weir distinctly felt a chilling, bone-piercing murderous intent envelop him. His chest tightened as if crushed by a boulder, the breath caught in his throat. Yet, in the next instant, Procis withdrew her killing intent, as though nothing had happened. Clearly, this was merely a warning for Weir.

“A terrifying woman!...”
Weir murmured inwardly, drawing a deep breath to steady himself. With Procis’ side settled, all that remained was to deal with Chelsberg.