A Witch That Is Good at Hunting

Chapter 12: Order of the Silver Blades (3)

“The old hunter finally brought the sacrifice to the Order.”

“Yes. His last destination was Vilnogos.”

A graceful woman set down her pen and clasped her hands.

She stared silently into the void, her face clouded with thought. After a moment she spoke.

“I expected as much… but he played a sharp hand. To raise the sacrifice as a weapon huh. As expected, he is no easy opponent.”

“What will you do now?”

The candlelight flickered in her green eyes. They were the eyes of someone resolved.

“We recover him before they can leash him. Prepare three competent followers.”

“As you command.”

* * *

The headquarters of the Silver Blades Order stood at the highest point of the city of Vilnogos.

It was more tower than building, and the Captain’s quarters were at its very peak.

The way was nothing but stairs.

For the aged Vigo and the limping Rowen, it was a cruel place.

Yet both walked it in silence, as if on a pilgrimage.

In contrast, Nike darted about gleefully. Even stairs like these were new and exciting to him.

Vigo caught hold of him and made him walk at his side. There was something he needed to explain first.

“Nike. According to the contract you signed, if you want to be paid, you must first pass the recruit test. It is the process of becoming a formal witch hunter.”

“…Fraud?”

“Hey, fraud? It was written right there. If you are unhappy, learn to read and check the contract yourself.”

Sweat ran down Nike’s forehead. He felt he had just learned another lesson about life.

‘S-Study.’

He had to know how to read. Otherwise this sly fox of a master would trick him again!

“Five weeks of basic training to be raised as a hunter. After that, you are paired in twos and live by taking on missions.”

“Training. Labor. Worst.”

Nike grimaced.

But he knew he must abide by the contract. He might be unruly, but in such matters he was strangely obedient.

“Heh. Nobody likes training, except people like Rowen who are textbook perfect. She said her happiest days were at the training camp. I swear she’s born to be an imperial officer, that one.”

“Ugh! Master! Please stop teasing mee!”

While the two argued, the stairs ended and the great building revealed itself.

It was a magnificent structure, crafted with utmost care by the artisans of the age.

The spiked buildings looked like thorns meant to pierce the eyes of evil gods.

Accepting the salutes of guards casually, Vigo continued.

“First you must be registered as a recruit. For that, you need to meet the Captain. Get his permission, and receive his letter of recommendation.”

“Conversation!”

“Yes. Your favorite thing, conversation.”

That sounded contradictory, yet it was true.

For Nike, violence was the most efficient form of conversation.

Soon they reached the top of the tower where the Captain worked.

Through the solemn hall they came to the door. Vigo gripped the handle and warned Nike.

“Do not cause trouble before the Captain. Understood?”

“Blind!”

“Hmm…?”

Vigo gave him a long look. Rowen frowned.

The answer was strange and out of place.

“…Coincidence? Anyway, let’s enter.”

* * *

The door opened. Through stained glass, the late afternoon sun shattered into light.

Chandeliers glittered above, candles lit the corridor, and statues of grotesque poses lined the path, like an art gallery.

At the end of that uncanny way stood a pers… no, a figure bathed in light.

Skin pale beyond bloodless, hair black like obsidian dust, eyes bound with a bandage, lips sewn shut with wire, a crown of thorns upon her head.

The beautiful woman, grotesque in appearance yet awe inspiring… was nailed upon a giant cross, bleeding.

Their footsteps echoed through the chilling stillness.

Nike stared silently at her as though gazing at a painting. He blinked, expressionless.

From the silence, another figure appeared.

This one’s hands and feet were bound in shackles, and his eyes were gouged out.

“…!”

Nike was startled, but Vigo and Rowen did not react. To them it was a familiar sight.

“Don’t be shocked. He is the condemned, the voice of the Captain.”

“Condemned?”

Allowed to use only his voice, the prisoner spoke the Captain’s will.

“It has been a long time, Lord Vigo. Rowen. And…”

Nike felt an ominous gaze upon him.

“…noble one.”

Though her eyes were blindfolded and her mouth sealed, he knew.

‘Uncomfortable!’

From the moment he entered, Nike had known she was watching only him.

It was like the room was full of unseen eyes. She greeted Vigo and Rowen with courtesy, yet toward him she radiated a foul aura.

It was a feeling he had known before, like the chill of a witch or a familiar.

“Captain. Let us get to the point.”

The condemned bowed deeply.

“Yes. This boy is the one you wrote about in your letter.”

“Indeed.”

“A man using magic, it is unbelievable.”

“His body heals even when burned by witchfire, he sees familiars our eyes cannot, and he can smell monsters from afar.”

The Captain’s expression was unreadable.

Yet it was obvious the Captain was feeling curious.  

Cautiously, she said,

“I will examine him.”

Vigo pushed Nike forward.

“Stay still for a moment. She will not eat you so don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t like! That woman!”

The condemned came near and laid shackled hands on him. They were cold like a dead person’s.

“Blegh…!”

Nike shuddered at the cold sensation. Worse still, he felt someone meddling with the magic inside him. It was a first, and he had no idea how to react.

He endured only because Vigo kept telling him to.

At last the condemned drew back.

Nike shook himself furiously as if to shake off dust. Morgana quietly gave her judgment.

“Confirmed. I recognize Nike as a hunter of the Order of the Silver Blades. I will write a letter of recommendation to Carlton.”

“Is that all?”

“No, Lord Vigo. May I speak with you privately?”

Through her blindfold, Nike felt her gaze again.

His eyes narrowed, sharp with tension. He remembered the feeling of her probing his magic and shivered.

“Rowen. Leave us for a moment please.”

“Yes, Master. Nike, let’s go.”

“Grrr.”

Rowen bowed and tugged Nike away.

Nike glared as though he might leap at the Captain. Rowen struggled to drag him out.

“Agh! Let me go!”

“Y-You lunatic, be… quiet!”

To shout inside the Captain’s chamber. This crazy brat!

It was the greatest crisis of Rowen’s life.

* * *

Once Nike was gone, silence returned to the chamber.

Sunlight streamed over the old hunter and the grotesque Captain.

“…So. What exactly is that beast?”

With only them left, Vigo spoke. The condemned knelt and replied.

“I do not know.”

“Are you certain?”

“He is male, yet holds magic. As you said, the magic regenerates on its own.”

The Captain declared firmly.

“Such a thing should be impossible.”

“But he exists.”

Vigo’s words cut sharp.

Behind the blindfold and wires that sealed her mouth, she seemed to ponder deeply.

“There is much humans cannot comprehend. Witches and evil gods. Stars and magic. That child is no different. He is unknown.”

Darkness clouded Vigo’s eyes.

“I am not in the mood for your low jokes.”

“It is only the truth.”

The words weighed heavy.

Vigo spoke in a low voice after staring at the condemned for a while.

“…Morgana Roxana, Witch of Regret. Confess your sins.”

Rumble-

The chamber shook. Statues trembled, chandeliers swayed.

Thud. The condemned struck his forehead on the floor, which led it to tear and bleed.

And then Morgana herself, nailed on the cross, forced her mouth open. Wire tore her lips as blood poured. Blood seeped from under her blindfold.

At last, not through another’s voice but her own torn mouth, she confessed her crimes.

“I confess my wickedness. In my 321 years I slew 366 men and 189 women, and more than 80 children who never reached adulthood.”

“I raised monsters, fed virgins’ hearts to familiars, sacrificed the body and soul of humans. For that I gained foul power and eternal life.”

“I killed and mocked humans, sowing death wherever I walked. Each word of my tongue was a curse. I poisoned rivers and wells with blood.”

“I also confess that I slew the prince of the fallen kingdom of Gestine. I sowed discord between King Aslan Praulo of the Balance and his queen, so the king drank poison from her hand.”

Her horrific confession ended. Vigo lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke over her face.

“Repent.”

Crack!

Her head twisted violently, neck bone tearing through her throat. Her jaw broke, dangling. Blood seeped through her blindfold.

Yet she made no sound, only spoke with her last intact tongue.

“…I repent of my sins.”

Vigo checked a silver pocket watch. If she lied or bore malice, the hands would tremble.

They did not.

Morgana Roxana spoke only the truth.

She truly did not know Nike’s nature. She also had no intention to trick Vigo.

The wires sealed her mouth again, blood dripping down her chin. The condemned rose once more.

“Is he a spawn of the evil god? Could it be the work of the first witch?”

Morgana spoke again through the condemned.

“I do not know… Such a possibility cannot be dismissed.”

Even a witch who had lived so long and committed such atrocities could not fathom Nike.

For Morgana Roxana to admit such ignorance was a first.

Vigo exhaled a smoky sigh. His wrinkles deepened.

“Is he safe? Isn’t it possible for a witch to hide their identity and trick people?”

“No. If he were a witch concealing something, he would not have been able to withstand my interference earlier and would’ve revealed his true nature.”

Finally Vigo nodded and put away the watch.

“…Alright. So he is not a witch blessed by an evil god.”

“Correct.”

“Then find out how he creates magic on his own.”

“Understood.”

Vigo lit another cigarette and spoke.

“Think you can teach him?”

“He needs no help from me. He is a genius beyond me. I cannot dare compare to him.”

“Hmm.. Is that so.”

Vigo agreed. Nike was a noble sword, a blade that would only grow sharper.

“It’s still needed. You will be teaching him. That beast will be raised as a hound.”

“As you command.”

The condemned bowed deeply once more.

“However, I will observe as well.”