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1
Witches don't feel pain.
That's the common belief. That's why her ladyship had us maids fetch a whip, a short one designed for horse-riding.
Standing in front of Noa, her ladyship casually flicked the whip against her palm. A sinister smile crept across her face, as if savoring the cruelty of her next move.
Bound to the chair, Noa writhed and twisted, her body contorting in wild movements. A feral growl erupted from within. I couldn't tell if she was enraged or terrified.
She was screaming something, but I couldn't make out what it was because of the gag. With her eyes wide open and cheeks flushed, she glared at her ladyship and us maids standing by the wall.
This room was typically used as a dressing room for the maids. The walls were adorned with tri-fold mirrors, and atop the vanities lay a disarray of powder and combs.
The head butler, a city police officer, and a pastor were with us in the room.
Yet, it was almost silent. The only sound was the rattling of the chair, echoing Noa's futile struggles against her bindings.
This marked the beginning of her ladyship's unofficial witch trial.
With this whip, I shall determine whether or not you are a witch.
Witches do not feel pain. If you wish to prove your innocence, let your screams of agony be heard.
With that, she lifted the hem of Noa's maid uniform, revealing her thigh.
A scream, like that of a horse, pierced the room as the whip struck her pale skin.
She was truly in pain, that girl Noa.
It wasn't an act. The agony was real.
Her cheeks grew even more flushed and tears welled in her eyes as she cried out.
But her ladyship kept swishing the whip, over and over again.
The pastor had seen enough and seized her ladyship by the wrist.
Stop this madness at once. The wizards will arrive shortly. Let them handle the interrogation.
She shrugged off his hand and lashed out with the whip with even greater force. She always ignored advice unless it came from her husband.
Now, does it hurt? How can I tell if you don't scream properly?
I had to shut my eyes tight. I couldn't watch any longer.
I was scared, so incredibly scared. I regretted revealing Noa's secret to her ladyship. I was the only one who could have stood by that girl's side, but I let her down.
The master had bought Noa as a slave.
About two weeks prior to the witch trial, he brought her into the household. Dressed in a plain fabric gown, she was clutching a hand mirror to her chest. It was the only belonging she had.
I had always believed that slaves were disheveled and battered on a regular basis. But Noa was nothing like that.
She didn't have a single bruise on her body. Her hair was trimmed and meticulously combed.
Her doe-eyes sparkled; irises a brilliant ruby red.
And her skin was as white as fresh cream.
I learned that she had turned twelve that year. Clearly, she was a slave of high value. The master must have paid a significant sum to acquire her.
Isn't she a beauty?
The master flaunted Noa before her ladyship.
His voice was brimming with the pride of someone who had just found a rare collectible.
She's a real gem.
Her ladyship was enraged, and rightfully so. After all, the master had left to buy spices but came back with two bags of pepper and a slave.
The master ignored her obvious disapproval and decreed that Noa would serve as a maid within their household.
Soon, the rumors began. There were whispers that Noa was the master's mistress, that he bought her as a lover and smuggled her into the house under the guise of a maid. It was an unpleasant rumor, but nobody had anything nice to say about the mysterious slave girl.
To me, though, she never seemed the sort.
She applied herself earnestly to learning the house's manners and rules. And though she was typically shy and cold, she would smile meekly whenever I praised her efforts, as any twelve-year-old would.
One day, I spotted Noa tucking the milk and bread from her lunch into her apron pockets, then slipping out of the house. Curious to see what she was up to, I decided to follow her.
Noa crouched in a secluded corner of the garden.
I caught a glimpse of a family of cats tucked away in the bushes—a mother cat nursing her kittens. It quickly became clear that Noa had been feeding her with the milk and bread.
When she spotted me, she stood up quickly with a guilty look. She whispered to me.
Don't tell anyone.
Her secret was safe with me.
Of course.
She smiled with relief.
This quiet, unsociable, and strikingly beautiful girl reminded me of an antique doll. She surprised me with her smile, revealing cute little canine teeth.
From then on, we both began setting aside portions of our lunch to feed the cats.
Noa was younger than me, but she was elegant and mature. I couldn't believe that she grew up as a slave. I even found myself captivated by her long eyelashes and the silhouette of her profile, fantasizing that she might be the lost daughter of a noble family fallen from grace.
When I shared these fantasies with her, Noa showed me a hand mirror. It was another secret between us.
It was the same white hand mirror she had held tightly to her chest when she first arrived at the house. It was an unmistakable piece of art. The surface was immaculately polished and the handle was beautifully adorned with a white snake intricately coiled around it.
Etched into the back were small letters spelling out A. Fygi. Noa claimed that House Fygi was her true lineage. According to her, they had once been a noble family, but had fallen and faded into obscurity.
Whether she was speaking the truth or merely entertaining my fantasies, I had no way of knowing. But it didn't matter to me. Fact or fiction, it didn't change the truth: Noa was beautiful, and I truly enjoyed her company and our conversations.
In hindsight, I should have been more cautious. My carelessness gave her ladyship, who had been looking for a reason to get rid of Noa, just the excuse she needed.
Piggy. That's what her ladyship called me back then.
Piggy, what are you and that thing up to?
Her inquiry came abruptly as I was tying her blonde hair into a bun, preparing her for a reception at the castle.
I hear you often disappear after your meal. They say you sneak out of the house with that thing. What for?
Well, I . . .
I was torn, unsure whether to tell her the truth—that we had been feeding the stray cats that wandered into the garden.
But it seemed that her ladyship already knew our secret.
You two aren't feeding stray cats or something, are you?
What?
Harboring suspicions about a relationship between Noa and the Master, her ladyship had been patiently waiting, looking for a legitimate reason to harm Noa and remove her from the house.
You know, Piggy, I've been thinking. That girl might very well be a witch.
Her ladyship said it so casually as she drew a fake freckle under her eye.
A witch was a sinister being exploiting the sacred magic for selfish gain, driven by insatiable greed and desire. They were sources of calamity for the innocent, as we all knew.
Her ladyship told me a story she had heard at a salon a few days earlier. It was the tale of a witch with a vivid magenta tongue wreaking havoc in the south.
Her story was set in the port town of Saul, within the Republic of Inatella.
A girl, bought as a slave, had allegedly massacred a noble's family, seizing their fortune. Survivors claimed she stood among the dead, holding a large silver scythe. There she would stand, sticking out her grotesque magenta tongue.
Saul, the scene of this tale, was the very place the master had been to acquire spices.
Her ladyship became convinced that Noa was none other than the Magenta Witch.
That can't be.
Noa's tongue isn't magenta.
Her ladyship wasn't taking me seriously.
Silly Piggy!
She just laughed at me.
If that girl truly is a witch, disguising the color of her tongue would be child's play.
Then . . . is it not impossible to confirm whether Noa is a witch?
Correct. There is no way to verify my claim by tongue color alone, but witches have other characteristics. They don't feel pain . . . They always float in water . . .
She tilted her head and rested her index finger on her chin.
I've also heard they keep familiars in secret. That's why I'm asking you, Piggy. What exactly are you and that thing doing so secretively?
I was trembling uncontrollably and dropped the comb.
No answer for me, Piggy?
She whispered into my ear, as she picked up the comb and handed it to me.
That means I must assume you are a witch too, then.
No! I just . . .
You just?
I-I just . . .
Did what you were told, didn't you? The witch told you to share your lunch so she could feed her familiar.
. . .
I didn't have the courage to oppose her ladyship.
Noa, who had endured a continuous whipping, hung her head low. Her face obscured by tangled hair, I could see drool dripping from her mouth to her reddened, swollen thighs.
The door bust open with a bang as three wizards entered the room.
Leading them was a middle-aged wizard, his features sharp and framed by a beard and a hood that cast a shadow on his face.
He walked directly to Noa as he reached out from his robe and flicked his finger upwards. Both Noa and her chair began to levitate.
He pressed his palm against the air in front of him. The chair, with Noa still bound to it, glided smoothly through the room, following the motion of his hand, and landed by the window.
It was my first time seeing magic. Unlike the heretical sorcery practiced by witches, this was the magic of a wizard who had been properly blessed and trained—a genuine miracle.
The female wizard among them commanded her ladyship and us to move further away from the witch and stand closer to the wall. She had three small birds—red, blue, and yellow—perched on her shoulders. It was an unusual sight.
Did you personally punish her?
The female wizard had an accusatory tone as she noticed the whip in her ladyship's hand.
Her ladyship merely shrugged.
How foolish.
The tall, younger wizard was carrying a large bag over his shoulder. He turned to the bearded wizard.
It seems we've been misinformed.
Had this girl been the Magenta Witch, these fools would have been slaughtered by now.
The young wizard moved toward Noa and removed her gag with a knife. With Noa now unconscious, he grabbed her chin and examined her mouth.
Hmm . . . just as I thought. Her tongue isn't even magenta. Poor thing.
Never lower your guard. Such a bad habit of yours.
The bearded wizard shot the younger one a stern look, his brow furrowed with disapproval.
Let us not dismiss the possibility that she is a witch. She could have used magic to change the color of her tongue. Use the silence.
Fine.
The young wizard reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle filled with a red liquid.
I later learned that it was a silence potion, a liquid with the ability to neutralize mana, the source of all magic.
The wizard was to use it to see if Noa's tongue had been altered by magic.
After giving the bottle a frothing shake, he poured its contents into her mouth.
If her tongue changed to magenta, it would prove she was a witch. If there was no color change, it would prove she was a mere, innocent maid.
We all waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. The red liquid spilled from Noa's mouth, trickling down her cheek.
Immediately, steam began to emanate from her body, still bound to the chair.
At that moment, I assumed this was a normal reaction. I thought that anyone doused with the potion would be engulfed in steam.
The wizards' reactions told a different story. They snapped to attention, instantly filling the room with a palpable tension.
As the steam cleared, a commotion rippled through the room.
It was no longer Noa who was bound to the chair.
As the mist thinned, a striking figure emerged: the delicate lace edging a skirt’s hem, a corset cinched tight to lift a full bosom, and a cascade of tousled blonde hair. Beneath her rolled-back eyes, the unmistakable faux mole favored by her ladyship was unmistakably visible.
We all gasped and panicked. In a blink, Noa had transformed into her ladyship.
The next obvious question was this.
What about the other ladyship? Our eyes darted to the figure in ther center of the room, whip still in hand. Who, exactly, was this woman?
Just then, the bearded wizard bellowed.
Stay away from that . . .
His warning was cut short as a thin wire, silver and long as a spear, pierced his throat.
It shot from the hand of someone bearing a striking resemblance to her ladyship. She was holding a white hand mirror. It was the same mirror with a snake that Noa had once shown me secretly.
This woman that looked exactly like her ladyship had her arm outstretched, directing her mirror toward the wizard. It seemed the silver wire came from the mirror itself.
As she swept her arm sideways, the wire slit the wizard's throat. Blood spurted like a fountain.
The red blood painted the ceiling, splattered across the tri-fold mirrors, drenched the carpet, and stained her ladyship, who was still bound to the chair. The wizard, his throat brutally torn open, crumpled to his knees.
The room was filled with screams and horrified cries.
While everyone scrambled for the door, the two remaining wizards stepped forward to confront the entity.
This enigma, with the form of her ladyship, gave a flick of her wrist and the silver wire retracted sharply, snapping back into the mirror like a whip.
She twirled the mirror above her head.
This time, a silky, shimmering fabric emerged. Somehow, a large, silver curtain dropped from the hand mirror and covered her entire body.
When the curtain withdrew, someone else stood in her place wearing a maid's uniform and apron, hair neatly trimmed at the shoulders. It was Noa, blinking her ruby-red eyes.
How in the world had they switched?
By the time the witch trial had begun, Noa had already been in the guise of her ladyship. The real ladyship was the one bound to the chair.
Damn you, witch!
The young wizard, filled with disgust, dropped his shoulder bag to the floor.
He raised both arms above his head. As he brought them down, he was clutching a large sword.
That wasn't all. More swords appeared out of thin air, one after another, plunging into the floor to form a circle around him. There were five or six, or maybe as many as ten.
At the same time, the three little birds that were perched on the female wizard's shoulder took to the air. Each grew to the size of a puppy and morphed into monstrous forms with sharp horns and fangs, all while retaining their feathers. Two hovered and spread their wings over the wizard's head, and the third, now on all fours using its wings as front legs, snarled with bared fangs at her feet.
I gasped at another display of magic.
But there was no time to be awestruck. In the commotion, the maids knocked me to the floor as they scrambled for the door.
When I looked up, I saw Noa.
She was simply standing there, apparently oblivious to the situation, even with the two wizards fully prepared to confront her.
With a wave of her mirror, Noa summoned a mercury-like liquid from its surface.
The liquid soared into the air and formed an arc above her head. Intricate reliefs of vines and leaves began to etch themselves onto the silver arch, hardening to form a brightly gleaming scythe, large and formidable, much like that which Death itself might wield.
This, too, was undeniably an act of magic.
I had always been taught that the magic wielded by witches was only used for malevolent purposes and thus was hideous and repulsive.
But I saw it with my own eyes: this petite girl standing there, embracing her scythe. It was a beautiful sight. It was wrong, I knew, but it was like a stunning piece of art.
Suddenly, Noa's gaze dropped to meet mine.
I thought she was going to kill me. I had betrayed her, after all. I had told her ladyship about the kittens. Even though I had been complicit in caring for them, I had shifted all the blame onto Noa to save myself.
My chest tightened with guilt.
I'm . . . I'm sorry.
The apology emerged spontaneously. Noa just shrugged in response. She looked sheepish, just like the time I caught her secretly feeding the kittens.
Then she narrowed her red eyes and stuck out her tongue slightly. It was the same Noa I knew so intimately, yet her tongue was an unmistakable vivid magenta.
2
Just as her ladyship suspected, Noa was a witch. She, the Magenta Witch, infiltrated the household to murder us and plunder our valuables.
Lady Gilly stood at the end of the long table, her hands folded in front of her ample figure.
Her gaze was fixated on the candles on the table.
The men seated along the table were listening intently to every word of her testimony.
The battle between the wizards and the witch was horrific. The room was soaked in blood, with severed limbs scattered everywhere. I . . . I was frozen in fear. I couldn't even move until the witch had completely gone.
The men could not even imagine the scenes Lady Gilly was conjuring in eyes that twinkled with a reflection of the candle light. They could only surmise that the scene was unspeakably gruesome.
I . . . I apologize. My memory of what transpired afterward is quite hazy.
Lady Gilly, who had maintained her poise until this point, lowered her gaze as her speech faltered.
A silence fell over the room within Campusfellow Castle. A thick, heavy silence.
Even with the lady's testimony concluded, none of the ten men at the long table dared to speak. They sat in solemn silence, their expressions stern as if infected by the witch's miasma through Lady Gilly's testimony.
The candles arranged on the table cast light onto the men's faces.
These were the key figures overseeing Campusfellow's political realm—the chief councilor, along with ministers of foreign affairs, finance, and other critical departments. Even the commander of the Ironflame Knights, tasked with guarding all of Campusfellow, sat quietly at the table’s far end.
Given the clandestine nature of this meeting, there was no scribe to record the proceedings.
I shall take over from here.
The silence was broken by Shimei, an elderly man clad in an oversized robe. He rose from his seat, dragging the hem of his overlength robe, and positioned himself next to Lady Gilly.
His violet robe marked him as a maester. Despite his frail and skeletal frame, his balding white head was a trove of knowledge, experience, and solutions to complex problems. It was this maester who had brought Lady Gilly, a survivor of a witch catastrophe, all the way from a distant land.
After slaying three wizards in the room, the witch then engaged two monks posted outside the house, killed them, and left. Two city guards who attempted to intervene, along with six others, sustained injuries. These included a pastor and maids.
Shimei directed his gaze to the back of the room.
These are the details of the witch catastrophe that occurred seven years ago in this bustling trade city—the so-called 'Terror of Tremolo.' What are your thoughts, my lord?
The lord of Campusfellow, the head of these ten men, sat with a commanding presence.
Do you still think we can have civil conversations with this Magenta Witch?
Lord Bud Grace leaned on his armrest, cheek resting on his palm.
He stroked his stubble and grunted.
Hmm.
His long, soft, wheat-colored hair and thick, muscular neck gave this mid-thirties man a rugged appearance, like a seasoned knight.
Most at ease in the saddle of his horse, Bud Grace, as the heir to House Grace, was obligated to sit in the seat of the Lord of Campusfellow.
Behind him hung a banner bearing two swords and a hedgehog, the Grace family crest.
Firstly, thank you for sharing your story, my lady. It's been enlightening.
Lord Bud turned his sharp gaze toward Lady Gilly and raised his index finger.
There's just one thing I want to know.
The men at the long table all simultaneously turned their gazes to Lord Bud.
You witnessed the entire commotion, yet you escaped without a scratch?
Yes. Either by the grace of the dragon or sheer luck.
Lady Gilly sounded nervous.
I see. One more thing, then. What about the kittens?
The kittens?
The ones the witch was secretly feeding. What became of them?
Well . . . they were her familiars, so wizards from the church . . .
Killed them?
Would have killed them, I thought. That's why I set them free on the night of the incident.
Well done!
Lord Grace!
Maester Shimei interrupted.
Why are the cats of any concern to you? We are discussing the serious threat of a witch. Have you been listening? The tragedy this woman went through!
I've been listening. But to my ears, it sounded more like an exhilarating tale of revenge rather than a tragedy.
Exhilarating? What part of the story could . . .
The fact that she's still alive.
Bud pointed at Lady Gilly.
She betrayed the witch and turned her in. Yet, here she is, alive and unscathed. Several other maids were injured during the commotion, but she didn't sustain a single wound, despite being frozen with fear. It leads me to believe the witch may have been protecting her.
Bud smiled at Lady Gilly.
What?
It suggests the witch forgave her.
He continued, addressing the plump woman.
Even if you tell your story with tears, isn't this quite the thrilling tale for someone once scorned as 'Piggy'?
That's not . . .
You must have been fascinated. Not by the wizards, but by the witch. That's why you spared the kittens, which may have been her familiars. Somewhere in your heart, you felt that this witch can be reasoned with, correct?
Well, I . . .
Lady Gilly lowered her gaze and fell silent. She was a devout Loucian, a worshipper of the dragon. She could never admit her attraction for a witch, an entity deemed malevolent by the Loucian church.
That will be all.
Shimei invited Lady Gilly to leave the room. She bowed deeply and made her way to the door. Shimei escorted her to the care of the guards stationed outside.
Once the door was securely closed, Bud sank deep into his chair.
The Magenta Witch, a girl who infiltrates households posing as a slave, murders the family there, and then steals their wealth. If she was just twelve back then, she must be around nineteen now.
After these seven years, she's now known as the Mirror Witch.
It was Brassely who spoke up. He was seated across from Bud to his left. Brassely was a stern man with a sharp mustache who wore a uniform adorned with gold and silver threads along the pointed shoulders, the distinctive garb of chief councilors of Campusfellow.
That closely mirrors what happened at the Bloody Wedding . . . Infiltrating as a maid and then slaughtering the residents. It seems the witch's methods haven't changed in seven years.
The Bloody Wedding that Brassely refered to was a catastrophic event in the kingdom of Lowe, about a two-and-a-half-day journey by swift horse from Campusfellow.
The saga began when the king of Lowe, known as the Lion King, fell in love with a maid in the castle.
Their wedding ceremony, held in the castle's chapel, was transformed into a scene of horror when the maid was revealed to be a witch. They say that more than fifty attendees, including nobles, high-ranking ministers, and knights, were brutally murdered then and there by the witch.
This had all happened just nine days earlier.
Oh, well. That's rather bold, isn't it?
Bud chuckled, resting his chin on his hand.
A witch who has been causing chaos among the wealthy finally targets a kingdom's castle.
According to rumor, the witch had stood in the chapel surrounded by mutilated bodies, her blood-soaked dress clinging to her as she brandished a silver scythe. This was the same witch with the notorious tongue that Lady Gilly had described.
Bold? Please. This is no laughing matter.
Maester Shimei cast a stern glance as he returned to his seat.
Councilor Brassely crossed his arms and looked at Bud.
My lord, have you heard about the state of the chapel? Headless, limbless bodies scattered everywhere, adrift in pools of blood, what was meant to be a place of joy turned into a scene from hell.
I've heard some of the bodies were burned to a crisp.
Edelweiss, a middle-aged man with a bald head, chipped in.
This couldn't have been the work of a human. The mere thought of it fills me with terror.
Edelweiss rubbed his arms as if embracing himself. He was a man of medium build, wearing a large, gray robe. The feather badge on his chest identified him as the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
But why would the witch target Lowe?
Bud, rubbing his stubble, was murmuring thoughts more to himself than to anyone in the room.
Edelweiss frowned and shook his head.
The Kingdom of Lowe lies beyond the reach of Loucianism, so its lands are free of wizards. For the witch, it must have seemed a free realm, given that wizards are her natural foes. The same applies to Campusfellow. We too are beyond the influence of the Loucian church, with no wizards to keep witches at bay. I must firmly opppose your idea, Lord Grace.
Edelweiss shifted and sat up straight, facing Bud directly, and hardened his voice.
Recruiting witches as our allies is reckless. They are calamities, bearers of misfortune and disaster. Even we non-Loucians should recognize the danger of witches after hearing such tales. Inviting such malevolence into our country could lead to the annihilation of our lands and people!
Annihilation, indeed.
Bud nodded to acknowledge Edelweiss's plea, which was bordering on despair.
Witches or not, if the current state of affairs persists, Campusfellow will face obliteration at the hands of the Kingdom of Amelia.
. . .
Edelweiss, forced to confront the grim reality, swallowed his words.
Under Queen Amelia’s rule, the Kingdom of Amelia had steadily expanded its territory through formidable military force. With each passing day, the flames of war crept ever closer to Campusfellow.
About three months earlier, Amelia’s forces had seized control of the Bloody River, a crucial trade route for Campusfellow. Once bustling with boats from various nations and free of tariffs, the river now had a water gate, erected by Amelian soldiers who began imposing exorbitant tariffs on all who traded along its waters.
The taxes on the import and export of weapons were particularly steep.
Naturally, Campusfellow raised objections, but Amelia’s terms for reducing the tax were outrageous. They demanded the Graces welcome a noble of higher rank into Campusfellow—essentially asking them to surrender their land. The request was not acceptable in the slightest.
How fares our treasury? We're in deep debt, are we not?
The Minister of Finance shook his head in despair.
Given the current predicament, where we are taxed every time we send out a ship, the more we trade, the deeper we sink into loss. If this continues, Campusfellow will be bankrupt in roughly six months.
For Campusfellow, a land rich with many skilled blacksmiths and whose main industry was the production of weapons and armor, the export of arms was a significant source of revenue. Without it, the country was all but certain to fall into ruin.
It was like being strangled, slowly and painfully.
You sense it too, don't you, Edelweiss? The war has already begun.
. . .
The grim reality that their nation was being slowly cornered by the Kingdom of Amelia had become painfully clear, even to the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
Campusfellow was far from a land of wealth. Even the castle, the lord’s residence, showed signs of wear and was plagued by drafts. Bud’s leather jacket was a testament to modesty, barely distinguishing him from the traveling merchants.
If the lord himself faced such hardship, one can only imagine the plight of the commoners. Yet, the people of Campusfellow greeted each day with unwavering resolve, toiling in fields, forges, and markets, all in pursuit of a life of peace and modest comfort.
How were these people supposed to withstand the sudden tyranny of a powerhouse like Amelia?
Bud was certain.
Amelia will invade us. These oppressions are stepping stones. Speak out against their exploitation, and they'll use it as a pretext to march their soldiers. That's why we've allied with Northland.
The people of Campusfellow had not been passively observing Amelia's encroachment. They had found a means of resistance by forging an alliance with a nation opposed to Amelia.
Northland had been a trading partner. Now the two lands were bound by a secret pact.
The North's Varcians are known for their savagery and resilience. They're the most powerful allies we could ask for. And yet . . .
Bud leaned back in his chair.
We still can't beat Amelia.
Indeed, they could not. With absolute certainty. Even with the fiercest weapons forged by Campusfellow and the toughest Varcians at their side, they still could not defeat Amelia.
And why is that, Brassely?
Bud crossed his legs and gestured towards Brassely, who was seated to his left.
It's because the Kingdom of Amelia has wizards.
Exactly. The wizards. We need to do something about their magic.
The Kingdom of Amelia was a deeply religious nation. Its state religion, Loucianism, worshiped dragons and allowed only its followers to pursue the path to becoming wizards. Though their numbers were modest—just three to four hundred—their power posed a formidable threat that could not be overlooked.
Through their arcane prowess called magic, these wizards mended the wounds of soldiers, cast balls of fire without a single catapult, and some were even rumored to fly. The Kingdom of Amelia had been zealously guarding these sorcerers, earning it the moniker 'Land of Dragons and Sorcery'.
What do we lack to defeat them? We possess the weaponry and the fiercest warriors. We have the wrath and resolve to fight the oppressor. What is it, then, that we don't have?
Bud extended an arm towards Edelweiss, to his right.
You know the answer, don't you, Edelweiss?
Magic, I presume.
Precisely. We need people who aren't wizards that can use magic.
Bud straightened up.
Magic, as we understand, springs from 'mana,' a mystic force that exists in nature. Those damn wizards learn how to channel this energy and master magic through their training at the monastery. However, there are individuals who innately possess the ability to use magic without any formal education.
Bud paused. A cunning smile unfurled across his face.
The Loucian church preaches that magic is a divine gift, reserved exclusively for its adherents. Understandably, they view with disdain any individuals who can harness magic independently of the church's sanction. That's why they brand them 'witches,' persecute them, and indoctrinate people to view them as evil. It's precisely these witches that we need.
That's madness.
It wasn't clear who whispered that under their breath, but it set off a cascade of opinions around the table.
Is our only choice to fall into ruin then, having to choose between wizards or witches?
Involving the witches will endanger our people unless we can ensure they're under our control.
Have we considered renegotiating with Amelia? It's not necessary to initiate conflict.
The room began to heat up again.
Nobody agreed with Bud's vision of forging an alliance with the witches.
What if we consider becoming a vassal state to Amelia? It might allow for a peaceful coexistence.
Have you lost your senses? Have you not heard the tales of nations drained of their lifeblood under Amelia’s dominion? Once you yield to them, their greed becomes insatiable.
Amelia’s thirst for war knows no end. They can never have enough weapons. If we submit and become their vassal, they'll demand every last one of our swords and shields.
But aligning with witches . . . such a strategy is unheard of.
We must tread carefully. It’s crucial we grasp the full weight of this decision for the sake of our . . .
Thud!
The sound echoed through the room, startling the bickering parties.
Silence! Lord Grace is still speaking.
At the far end of the table, a tall, burly figure roared, his hard chest, thick neck, and square jaw reflecting an unwavering determination. Even seated, he gripped his cherished spear, a symbol of his fierce spirit. Though still in his early twenties and the youngest in the room, his commanding presence silenced any dissent.
Commander Hartland had the insignia of the Fiery Hedgehog embroidered across his biceps and broad back. It was a symbol closely associated with the Grace family crest and represented the Ironflame Knights.
Thank you, Hartland. But . . .
Bud was the one to break the silence.
I've asked you countless times to stop doing that. Look, the floor by your seat is all dented.
Bud gestured towards Hartland's feet, where the stone showed wear from the commander's habit of slamming down his spear's butt during heated discussions.
Understood!
Bud knew well that the knight's old habits died hard. The floor would suffer the same ordeal again and again.
Now . . .
Bud tried to regain the room's attention as he stood up.
Your concerns are valid. Shimei might have brought Lady Gilly to us, painting witches in a fearsome light. But having listened to her, I'm convinced witches can be reasoned with.
He rose and started pacing behind the seated men.
To protect our land from Amelia's encroachment, I want the witches. I want to scatter them across the continent.
The men watched Bud as he moved around the table.
Loucians try to demonize witches so of course they exaggerate and spread tales to instill fear. They say witches are terrifying, perilous disasters to be avoided at all cost . . .
Hehehe . . .
Bud chuckled to himself, seemingly amused as he continued his pacing.
But what if they truly are disasters? That's, in fact, even better. The more horrifying the witch tales are, the more it shows that the Loucians—or rather, the wizards—fear them. Now, I ask you, what stories of witches have you heard?
Bud nudged an official.
Oh. Well . . .
His voice wavered with uncertainly.
During a famine in the poor village of Edelhorn, a hungry witch turned people and their animals into candy . . .
And devoured them. The Candy Witch, indeed. Excellent.
Bud pointed to another official across the table.
How about you? Any witch stories to share?
Let me see . . . I've heard that at the bottom of the sea in the Republic of Inatella, there is a Sea Witch who grants any wish. But she takes the most important possession of the wisher in return.
In Oz . . .
Another official began hesitantly.
We've perhaps all heard about the Witch from the West, notorious for killing her own sister . . .
That's correct.
Bud nodded, continuing his leisurely pace around the table.
And speaking of notoriety, isn't there an uninhabitable Frozen Castle in Northland? Which witch was behind that?
With Bud's gentle tap on the shoulder, Shimei sighed.
That would be the Snow Witch, my lord. And if we are to talk about witches who've razed castles, there's also the Thorn Witch. Now, from which forest did that story hail . . .
If it were merely a castle that fell, we might have overlooked it.
It was Chief Councilor Brassely interjecting.
I've heard of Rondo-Cliff, the Town of Night, erased from the map by a flying troupe from across the continent. The empress leading the strangely dressed soldiers proclaimed herself the Moon Witch.
See? There are plenty of tales to tell.
After circling the long table, Bud took his seat again.
And over in Lowe, the Kingdom of Knights, the Mirror Witch is currently imprisoned . . .
With all eyes on him, Bud smirked.
Our first step is to recruit her.
But the Mirror Witch is imprisoned for her crimes. Do you genuinely believe Lowe will hand over the one responsible for the Lion King's death so easily?
Shimei expressed his doubt with a raised eyebrow. Bud simply shook his head in response.
Worry not. I've already made some arrangements. Edelweiss?
Edelweiss placed a letter on the table.
The seal, emblazoned with the Lowe family's lion crest, had already been broken.
This came in from Lowe this morning. Omura Lowe, the late Lion King's younger brother, is willing to part with the witch for a price. The catch is, I have to personally make the journey to Lowe to collect her.
They dare to summon Bud Grace, our lord, to come running at a mere letter's call, without even sending an envoy?
Shimei jumped to his feet, outraged.
Such disrespect! That kingdom has always been too full of itself.
Don't get so worked up, Shimei.
Bud gestured for the maester to calm down.
With the Lion King gone, Lowe's in chaos over who'll take the throne. Omura is one of the hopefuls and probably sees this as a chance to flaunt his influence and connections by summoning someone of my stature.
Can we truly trust them?
Brassely was concerned.
They've been our adversaries before.
That's ancient history now, a feud from more than 50 years ago. Still, we'll take a strong contingent of knights with us.
Bud's eyes scanned to the end of the table.
Hartland, select around 30 of our most experienced knights. We're engaging with a kingdom renowned for employing knights. We need to present a formidable front. It'll be quite the spectacle.
Understood! Once we've handled the Direwolves, I'll organize the men.
Hartland's voice boomed across the room.
Ah, the Direwolves . . .
Direwolves were wolves the size of bears known for their pack behavior. Just one day earlier they had been spotted in Campusfellow's western district. Three had broken through the fences, wreaking havoc in the fields and savagely killing several farmers.
People in the village were in a state of terror at the prospect that this pack of monsters could be prowling the nearby forests. The Ironflame Knights were mobilizing to hunt down and eliminate the beasts.
When is the hunting party setting out?
We're poised to move. The moment the rain ceases, we'll venture into the forest.
I see. it seems our journey to Lowe will have to wait until after the hunt. Our troubles seem to be mounting.
Bud leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
He then abruptly sat up, as if struck by a sudden thought.
What's the Black Dog up to? Is he joining the hunt?
Hartland does not even try to hide his displeasure at hearing that name.
No, my lord. He's not part of the Ironflame. That lad won't even put on armor or hold a sword. He is too weak to be called a knight.
Oh for heaven's sake. You two really cannot get along, can you?
I've begrudgingly assigned him to keep watch at the forest's edge. Frankly, I can't trust him. Such a dubious thing, that assassin of yours.
