Chapter 3 – The Witch and Her Apprentice (4)

Rｅad̀ ​&o;n‌ ​​Ka‌ţRèａdin​ｇ​Cａfε

The death of the siblings was quickly and quietly forgotten in the village.

It was a decision made by the village chief, who feared that if the witch heard about the siblings’ story, it might provoke her anger.

Though the witch had never made the cruel or evil requests often heard in rumors or fairy tales, a sense of desolation had taken root in the villagers’ hearts.

Like the butterfly effect, where the flap of a butterfly’s wings can eventually cause a storm, the witch’s small gestures gradually wore down the villagers.

The Witch Effect.

Rebecca’s death settled quietly over the village, but no one dared to speak of it aloud.

With the expectation that more caravans would pass through, the village was poised for unprecedented prosperity.

The death of Rebecca and Tony was undoubtedly a tragedy, but the villagers couldn’t drive out the witch, who was indirectly the root of the problem. They had received too much from her and had grown accustomed to their new way of life.

Rumors that driving out the witch might bring a curse also played a role, and a sense of unease settled deeply in the villagers’ hearts.

The witch’s curse had already begun.

Even if the witch had killed Tony, it was Tony’s problem and Rebecca’s fault for not keeping him in check.

When the Verdandi caravan stopped by on its way back from trading with the Holy Kingdom, it was an opportunity to spread the word that the village was a fertile land blessed by nameless gods.

The Verdandi caravan stopped by Gariril Village on its way back from trading with the Holy Kingdom.

The caravan members and their hired mercenaries spared no expense, enjoying the village’s abundance.

Barum, the caravan leader, and the village chief engaged in a heated discussion about the trade between the Verdandi Kingdom and the Holy Kingdom, as well as the future of Gariril Village. Jack, Josie’s father and the leader of the mercenaries hired by Barum, listened intently, dreaming of a prosperous future.

“By the way, I haven’t seen that girl Rebecca around the village.”

Barum, slightly drunk, brought up Rebecca. The alcohol had put him in a good mood, and he recalled the night they had spent together. Her desperate attempts to please him had only fueled his desire.

He wondered if he might enjoy another pleasant night with her.

The expressions of the chief and Jack darkened momentarily, but they quickly composed themselves.

“Rebecca, well…”

“She boldly came to my room when we arrived last time.”

Barum raised his voice boastfully, as if recounting a heroic tale.

“She offered me a silver ring and asked me to deliver a letter to someone close to the Holy Kingdom. In all my years, I’ve never received such a request.”

“And… what happened?”

“What do you mean? A silver ring alone wasn’t enough for a deal. The connections of Barum, leader of the Verdandi caravan, aren’t so cheap. I even have ties to the inquisitors of the Holy Kingdom.”

Drunk, Barum embellished his story to make himself sound more impressive.

Since Rebecca had been a popular girl in the village, the chief and Jack listened with grave expressions. Barum couldn’t bring himself to admit that he had agreed to deliver the letter in exchange for a night with her.

“I just remembered Rebecca because of that incident.”

“Rebecca is…”

The chief told Barum Rebecca’s story—a suitably edited version that omitted the witch, turning it into a tragic tale that everyone could accept. Since the villagers had already agreed on the story, there was no risk of inconsistencies.

“…And so, we buried Rebecca and Tony side by side so they could be together even in death.”

“I had no idea such a tragedy had occurred. We must leave early tomorrow, so I’ll take my leave now.”

The mood of the gathering soured after Rebecca’s death and sad story, and Barum and the mercenary leader left. The chief and Jack remained seated.

“A letter to the Holy Kingdom…? Why would Rebecca do such a thing?”

“Chief, haven’t you heard the rumors about witch hunts in the Holy Kingdom?”

The atmosphere grew cold as they realized Rebecca, who had grown up in Gariril, had no connections in the Holy Kingdom and had resorted to such a reckless method.

“We need to find that letter immediately.”

“Do you believe Barum’s story?”

The chief, overwhelmed with fear, could barely keep himself together.

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I searched Rebecca’s empty house the day she died. Aside from that silver ring, she had nothing of value to sell. I planned to sell it when the caravan returned, but after turning the house upside down, all I found were a few coins.”

Jack moved closer to the chief. As the chief’s eyes shook violently, Jack also felt the danger.

“Do you know what that means? I think that damned caravan leader lied to us.”

That letter must have contained the village’s secret.

It couldn’t be.

This can’t be happening.

The contract with the witch…

If the Holy Kingdom found out that Gariril Village had made a deal with a witch, the chief’s death alone wouldn’t be enough to resolve it.

The entire village would be massacred.

“If the letter was delivered to Barum’s so-called ‘impressive connections’… there are only two options.”

A way to escape the inquisitors’ punishment.

Jack’s expression was tinged with madness, surpassing fear.

“Either kill the witch. Or flee the village.”

“How do you expect to kill a witch?!”

“If we don’t, the inquisitors will kill us all!”

Their voices rose.

If it were just his own life at stake, Jack wouldn’t care. But he had a wife and Josie.

“Didn’t I tell you, Chief? We shouldn’t have left Rebecca alone.”

The damage was done, and the inquisitors could arrive as early as tomorrow. Though regret was meaningless now, Jack wished he could go back in time and bury an axe in Rebecca’s skull.

“Whether we die by the witch’s hand or the inquisitors’, it’s the same.”

If Jack wasn’t convinced, he might grab an axe and rush to kill the witch immediately.

Since no one had ever heard of a man killing a witch, and acting rashly could lead to disaster, the chief clung to his remaining reason and tried to persuade Jack.

“Your thoughts are all valid. But hear me out. Killing the witch is fine, but before that, why not ask for her help? She’s the witch who saved the children. If we approach her properly, she might help. If she refuses, then you can act as you see fit.”

“Let’s leave tomorrow morning. I’ll go with you.”

Morning came quickly.

The caravan left the village before dawn, as if fleeing, without even saying goodbye. Their silent departure left an uneasy feeling.

Jack regretted not taking Barum hostage, even if it meant breaking his legs. If the inquisitors came, Barum’s so called “impressive connections” might at least be able to save his family.

“Do you know where the witch lives?”

Jack, who looked exhausted from staying up all night, asked the chief as he slung an axe over his shoulder.

“Who do you think made the deal with the witch? Don’t worry.”

To avoid the witch’s curse, Jack wore a thick mask. He had heard a superstition that if no one knew who killed the witch, the curse could be avoided. He also packed poison he had bought from the caravan, which lightened his mood slightly.

He wondered if the witch’s blessings were even real. Perhaps the bountiful harvests were solely due to their own efforts.

Though he had revered the witch more than anyone in the village, now he felt like an inquisitor himself, determined to eliminate her.

“Chief, let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s.”

As they were about to open the door,

Bang—!

A violent impact shattered the door, crushing the chief beneath it.

Jack looked at the group beyond the door and could only pray to nameless gods.

Plate armor emblazoned with the lion seal of the Holy Kingdom.

Eyes as white as if chosen by the gods.

“Pray. Until dawn comes. Repent for your sins.”

Eyes burning white like the dawn, framed by platinum hair.

The Third Sword of the Holy Kingdom.

The witch hunter, Lucia, tasked by the pope to hunt witches.

She frowned at the traces of the witch felt throughout the village.

Especially at the old man crushed under the door, whose suffering made her nauseous.

“Capture them all. The witch trial begins now.”

Lucent