Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 1 - Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The Perfect Formula

With Cyril over his shoulder, Nero dashed through the pitch-black forest. Even in human form, he had improved night vision. In addition, he was much stronger than the average human and could easily maintain his full speed despite carrying Cyril.

…Come to think of it, he thought, how did this chilly guy sneak out of the dorm?

The boys’ and girls’ dormitories were each surrounded by high walls. Guards manned the gates, keeping watch throughout the night. It should have been quite difficult to get in or out.

If one could use flight magic to soar or leap through the air, that would be a different story, but flight magic wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It required both a high level of precision mana control and developed physical abilities—it was a technique primarily used by high mages. That was why Monica, with her below-average physical coordination, couldn’t use it.

In my expert opinion, this chilly guy has some standout ice magecraft, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly skilled at anything else.

A person’s elemental affinity was determined from birth, and most average mages were only able to manipulate a single element. Monica’s ability to easily handle advanced magecraft without regard to element was in many ways unusual. Though Nero found it easy to forget at times, she was one of the Seven Sages—the greatest mages in the kingdom—after all.

Chilly guy probably can’t use wind spells, then. Though it’s still pretty amazing that he can use ice magecraft so well at his age. How had Cyril, who couldn’t use flight magic, snuck out of the boys’ dorm?

The answer came to him the moment he arrived at the rear entrance to the dormitory. There was a large crack in part of the wall surrounding the building. Cyril must have slipped through it.

“For an elite academy,” muttered Nero, “that’s sure some sloppy maintenance work.”

“Apparently, generations of students have used that crack to slip out of the dorm and take a breather,” came a voice from behind Nero.

He turned back, Cyril still over his shoulder, and saw a familiar male student standing behind him. With a tall, slender body; a pleasantly handsome face; and golden hair that shone softly in the moonlight—it was the second prince of the Kingdom of Ridill, Felix Arc Ridill. He was wearing his school uniform and holding a rather large board.

As Nero looked at the board, Felix stood it up against the wall so as to cover the crack. “Normally we conceal it with the board like this, but it would seem Cyril wasn’t able to do so at the time.”

Ah, thought Nero. So the prince is also a regular customer, too. Nodding to himself, Nero lowered Cyril from his shoulder. “I’m a traveler who just happened to pass by. This chilly guy was out of control with mana poisoning and collapsed in the middle of the forest, so I brought him back here for you. What do you think? I’m so kind, right? Hurry up and thank me.”

“Yes. Thank you for your efforts.”

“Whatever he says he saw, tell him it was all a hallucination due to the mana poisoning. Got that? Everything he saw was a hallucination.”

“…Hmm?” Felix glanced at Cyril, then immediately returned his gaze to Nero. His expression was calm and gentle—but his blue eyes were guarded as they watched Nero’s movements. “Would you mind giving me your name, perhaps, kind traveler?”

“Oh, I’m no one important. But since I’m so nice, I’ll tell you anyway. The name’s Bartholomew Alexander.”

Faced with Nero’s braggadocio, Felix put a hand to his mouth and snickered.

“That’s the same name as the main character in an adventure novel.”

“Wait. You know Dustin Gunther?” Nero asked, excitement in his voice.

He felt his fondness for the prince increasing slightly. It was his firm belief that anyone who liked Dustin Gunther had to be a good person.

Felix shrugged. “I’ve partaken in most amusements this country has to offer—novels, games, theater,” he said, smiling—though his smile seemed somehow empty.

Nero unconsciously scowled. This guy gives me the creeps.

Despite having been born into royalty and blessed with everything he could ever desire, the prince had empty eyes—like those of someone who possessed nothing at all.

Felix easily scooped up Cyril, then turned back to Nero as if he had just remembered something. “By the way, traveler? These forests are academy property, so only academy personnel and students are allowed to enter them.”

“Oh. Is that right?”

Nero hated being told to follow human rules. I’m not human, after all. The rules of mankind were none of his concern. He gestured to Cyril with his chin. “Since I saved the chilly guy for you, just pretend you didn’t see me.”

“Yes, of course. I’m not about to interrogate you after you saved Cyril.”

“Ohhh?” Nero knitted his brows in suspicion and shoved his hand into the folds of his robe. After rummaging around in the cloth, he appeared to catch something. “…Or maybe you didn’t need to interrogate me because you were going to have your little spy check up on me instead,” he said, bringing his hand back out of his robe.

Clutched between his fingers was the tail of a white lizard, his body swaying limply to and fro. Nero raised the lizard up to his face.

“Looks tasty!” he threatened.

The lizard flailed his tiny limbs.

Nero bared his sharp teeth in a villainous grin. “A water spirit, by the looks of it? You probably planned to have him hide in my clothes and keep tabs on me. Well, that’s too bad for you. I’m pretty sensitive to mana.”

Spirits were like big clumps of mana. The higher level the spirit, the harder it was for Nero to miss. This white lizard was a high water spirit, presumably contracted with the prince. Even presented with the white lizard, however, Felix maintained his calm smile—and that just made him even creepier.

Nero had been hoping for a bigger reaction, like, Wh-what?! or Who in the world are you?! Unfortunately, the prince showed no sign of agitation whatsoever.

Bored, Nero tossed the lizard to the ground and turned his back on Felix.

“See you.”

Before leaving, Nero cocked his head a little and took one last look behind him. Felix said nothing—just stood there smiling quietly, watching him leave.

Look, you sparkly prince, he said to himself. I don’t care how bored you are. You keep your hands off my favorite, got it?

He didn’t want to give away his identity by continuing to chat, so he kept his mouth shut—but bared his sharp teeth in another villainous grin.

If you break Monica, I’ll rip you to shreds and devour you.

After being tossed to the ground, Wildianu moved over to Felix and pressed his little head to the dirt in apology. “I’m terribly sorry for my lack of strength, sir. I shall begin pursuit of him right away and—”

“No, don’t worry about it. We wouldn’t want you getting eaten.”

Though Felix spoke in a lighthearted, jovial way, Wildianu seemed to be very seriously ashamed of his incompetence.

At any rate, Felix had already given up on chasing the black-haired man. He didn’t know who he was, but he felt instinctively that simply chasing the man down wouldn’t be enough.

He wasn’t human, whoever he was. He probably wasn’t a spirit, either, but something else entirely. But regardless of his identity, if he didn’t mean any harm to Felix, then Felix was more than happy to leave the matter be for now.

“Wil, return to my pocket. It would be inconvenient if Cyril was to see you.”

“Of course, sir.” Wildianu slithered up Felix’s leg and tucked himself into the prince’s pocket. Once he’d finished, Felix adjusted Cyril’s position on his back and started walking.

He heard Cyril give a little groan. Apparently, he’d come to.

“Ugh… I, I…,” he murmured, voice ragged.

Felix spoke to him in his usual tone. “Hey. Awake now?”

“…Prince…?” Cyril blinked several times, then looked at Felix, eyes hazy.

“You had a case of mana poisoning and collapsed in the forest. A kind traveler brought you back here.”

“…I’ve caused you trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

Normally, Cyril would have suggested straightaway that he be allowed to walk on his own. The fact that he hadn’t protested proved how exhausted he was.

Once Felix had delivered him to his room, Cyril wearily lay down on the bed and looked up at Felix. “…The traveler who rescued me. Was it a short person wearing a hood?”

Felix shook his head. “No, it was a tall man with black hair.”

“…I see,” murmured Cyril, closing his eyes as if ruminating on something.

Suddenly curious, Felix asked, “What sort of hallucinations were you having in the forest anyway?”

For a time, Cyril was silent, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He was probably replaying the illusions he had seen on the backs of his eyelids.

Eventually, he slowly began to speak, eyes still shut. “…I saw a monster… A terrifyingly quiet, terrifyingly powerful monster… I doubt I’ll ever forget the sight of it as long as I live.”

* * *

After entrusting Cyril to Nero, Monica headed out of the forest, past the girls’ dormitory, and toward the Serendia Academy school building. Ryn watched her impassively, head tilted so far to the side that she looked like a doll with a broken neck. This was apparently her way of indicating confusion.

“Aren’t you returning to the dormitory?”

“…There’s, um…something I wanted to, er, check on.”

“Check on?” repeated Ryn.

Monica circled around to the back of the academy, then stopped in front of the rear gate. “…Lord Ashley’s broach failed, um, because he was showered with powerful mana.”

As a result, the magical broach, lacking a protective formula, had malfunctioned. Which begged the question: What was the source of the powerful mana to which Cyril had been exposed? It was logical to assume he’d come under some sort of magic-based attack.

“Lord Ashley was, um, very out of sorts earlier,” she explained. “Rather than mana poisoning…his symptoms were closer to…the side effects of mental interference magecraft…”

Mental interference magecraft was a dangerous type of magic that was forbidden in most cases. It was possible to use it to perform simple brainwashing or fiddle with a person’s memories to make them forget inconvenient truths, but its side effects included mental destabilization and intense mood swings.

Ryn had finally caught on to Monica’s point. “In other words, the boy just now had recently been attacked by someone using mental interference magecraft, and that caused his magical broach to malfunction?”

“…Yes.”

And if that was the case, then Monica had a pretty good idea of what had been going on at the academy.

Selma Karsh had dropped the flowerpot as revenge against Aaron’s condemnation. But the truth about Aaron had been hidden from the students. They had been told only that he had voluntarily left school to recover from an illness.

Then why did Selma know the truth about Aaron’s punishment? Logically, someone must have told her.

And the true criminal had used mental interference magecraft to work Selma into a frenzy—all in order to set her up as Aaron’s accomplice.

Come to think of it, Aaron O’Brien’s behavior also resembled the side effects of mental interference.

He’d claimed he’d had an accomplice—but also that he couldn’t remember their name. Selma had claimed she was the one at fault for everything—but her words and actions had been incongruous. And now Cyril had been thrown into chaos and his mana out of control.

What if all three of them had been affected by a mind-altering spell?

Who had the means and the motive?

“…Miss Ryn, please hide for a moment.”

“At once.”

Ryn landed silently on a nearby tree branch, the skirt of her maid uniform fluttering.

As Monica was admiring the unique sense of lightness possessed by wind spirits, she caught sight of a figure next to the school building. She pulled back her hood and approached.

The figure, having just left the school building, caught sight of Monica and looked at her with suspicion.

“You’re…Monica Norton, the new student, right?” he said, fussily pushing up his spectacles. “And just what are you doing out so late at night?”

It was Monica’s homeroom teacher and the adviser to the student council—Victor Thornlee. In his arms, he clutched a thick sheaf of paper as though it was very important. Monica stared fixedly at the papers, and Mr. Thornlee frowned.

“I’m sure curfew was quite some time ago. Going out this late without permission is grounds for suspension—”

“Those,” said Monica, interrupting him, pointing at the papers Mr. Thornlee held. “Where are you…taking those?”

For a moment, Mr. Thornlee seemed embarrassed and at a loss for words. Behind his spectacles, his eyes shifted away ever so slightly.

“It’s no use switching them with something else. I’ve memorized all the numbers in every document I’ve seen.”

“Switch them…? What are you talking about?” asked Mr. Thornlee, his cheeks drawing back and his voice unnaturally high-pitched.

Until now, Monica’s youthful face had always trembled in fear—but now, that fell away. It was just like when she’d been grappling with numbers in the student council room. A light shone, deep in her green eyes, as she peered at the documents in Mr. Thornlee’s hands.

“The student council’s accounting records have been a mess for quite some time now,” she told him.

Every year, revenues and expenditures had failed to match. Ultimately, they’d been sloppily manipulated just to make the numbers line up. It had been a kind of tradition for the one in charge of accounting, the adviser, or whoever else to falsify them.

But Monica had noticed something during her review.

“Five years ago,” she continued, “the way the numbers were falsified became more sophisticated. And what’s more, the amounts of money began to get larger and larger.”

After Aaron O’Brien had become accountant one year earlier, the amount of money had only further increased.

“Five years ago…was when you were appointed as adviser to the student council.”

“What does that have to—?”

“Aaron O’Brien’s accomplice in the embezzlement was you, Mr. Thornlee.”

Rustle, rustle. The papers slid against one another as they fell from Mr. Thornlee’s hands.

While Monica was distracted by this, Mr. Thornlee immediately closed the distance between them and grabbed her right wrist to keep her in place. He glared at Monica with hateful eyes and spat lowly, “For a failure of a student, you’re awfully sharp.”

“…Please let…go!”

Monica tried to shake him off, but the more she resisted, the angrier Mr. Thornlee got. His eyes as he looked down at her burned with a dense, concentrated hatred. “Magecraft research takes money, you know. And my research is so excellent…well, a mediocre girl like you would never be able to understand it, even if you tried for your entire life.”

Mr. Thornlee gripped Monica’s wrist so hard, he almost broke it, then used his other hand to cover Monica’s face. She heard a soft chant. The formula was for…

Mental interference!

Once Mr. Thornlee was done chanting, a white light poured from his hand. “Burn this into your eyes—my perfect formula!”

Monica’s vision went white.

Each of the particles of light was formed by tiny magical symbols. The flow of the light was itself one single magical formula. Monica stared right at it without averting her gaze.

“You saw nothing. And you’ll forget about the numbers in the accounting records… Understand?”

Mr. Thornlee’s suggestion was like a wedge pounded into a person’s head. Attempting to go against that suggestion came with intense pain—like trying to rip the wedge back out.

But before it could gouge into Monica’s mind, the wedge dissipated.

“…What…?”

Mr. Thornlee’s magical formula collapsed, and the particles of light lost their glow. Monica looked up at him quietly; his eyes were wide. On that young, innocent face of hers was an expression of clear distaste.

Monica very rarely got angry about anything. No matter how much others made fun of her, no matter how many times they called her clumsy or stupid or incapable of doing things normal people could do, she could only hang her head, because they were right.

…But numbers and magecraft? Those were different.

The act of sullying perfect, beautiful equations and magical formulas was the one thing she could never bring herself to tolerate.

Mr. Thornlee’s magical formula was just like the altered accounting books. It was a far cry from the perfect, beautiful formulas that Monica so loved.

“…This isn’t…perfect in the slightest.”

Mr. Thornlee glared at Monica, eyes bloodshot.

Normally, Monica would have cowered in fear and looked down with tears in her eyes. But Mr. Thornlee’s unsightly formula had lit a fire in her heart. It had offended her pride as a mage.

She continued. “Mental interference spells require delicate mana control and a complicated, precise understanding of magical formulas. Yours is full of holes—far from…from perfect.”

“Nonsense! It’s perfect…!”

“…And yet, someone like me was able to block it?”

“Silence!”

Mr. Thornlee once again began to chant. His first formula was meant to seal a piece of a person’s memories, but this chant was more vicious. It would utterly destroy the person’s mind.

He raised his glowing-white palm. “A fool like you who cannot comprehend my excellence is better off as a mute doll!”

The moment his right hand touched Monica’s head, she used her own mana to interfere with his magical formula. Such a move was extremely unconventional and possible only if the user had a very high level of skill. Monica managed it with ease.

First, she deciphered the formula Mr. Thornlee had woven, then dismantled it, pulling it apart like a mess of knotted string. That much was the same as when she’d nullified his first spell. The white light burst and dissipated, the glowing particles scattering around them.

But this time, after dismantling it, she kept the spell active and rewove it into something of her own—something more complex, more precise, and more beautiful. Something perfect.

The scattered particles of light began to swirl around her, as though each had a mind of its own, eventually forming shapes.

What is this? What’s happening? thought Victor Thornlee, gasping in shock.

The light particles, whose shapes had previously been meaningless, had transformed into shining white butterflies. They left behind trails of glittering scales as they flew about in the darkness. It was a fantastic sight—beautiful enough to send a chill down one’s spine.

However, anyone with even foundational knowledge of magecraft would be awestruck.

Each one of those butterflies…is a magical formula? And they’re so incredibly advanced…

According to older magecraft texts, truly perfect mental interference formulas took on the form of butterflies. And right now, dancing before his eyes, were beautiful butterflies constructed only of magical formulas.

This was the perfected formula he’d never been able to reach, despite resorting to crime and pouring all his passion into the effort. And the one who had woven this formula so easily, without even chanting, was a little girl for whom he had felt nothing but disdain.

She was seedy-looking, certainly not suitable for this academy—and yet, not only had she seen through Thornlee’s embezzlement, she’d negated his magecraft.

She’d demonstrated, as a mage, just how wide the gulf of ability was between them.

“It’s not—it’s not possible… It’s just not… How could you, of all people…have such a perfect formula…and without chanting—?”

As he spoke, realization dawned.

Humans needed to chant to use magecraft. But there was just one person in this kingdom who had made the impossible possible.

A girl genius who had been selected as one of the Seven Sages two years ago at the young age of fifteen—as one of the pinnacles of magecraft.

The very genius who had unveiled a magical formula even more advanced than the one Thornlee had spent twenty years developing, shocking the magic world and tearing his own pride to shreds.

“You… You can’t be the Silent—”

As if to interrupt him, the white butterflies began to stick to Thornlee’s body, one after the other. When he tried to scrape them off, they covered his fingertips.

“Stop, no…! Stop this! Pleeease!”

The white butterflies covered both his shrieking mouth and his flailing limbs.

Finally, no longer able to move, Thornlee used his right eye, just barely showing through the coccoon of butterflies, to burn into his memory the image of the witch who had done this to him.

A small girl, skinny, with young features. Her green eyes, with a touch of brown in them, stared at him, emotionless and glittering like jewels in the light of the white butterflies.

And that monster in the form of a girl—the Silent Witch—spoke quietly and mercilessly.

“The spell will last for twenty-four hours. You’ll dream of…”

* * *

Victor Thornlee was standing in a grassy field.

He knew these fields. They were the plains of his homeland.

But why was he in this empty countryside? He was too good to end up buried in a place like this.

Money. Not enough money. Magecraft research takes money. With money, I can do even better research. And then I can reclaim the dignity the Silent Witch stole from me…

To do that, he’d instigated the foolish Aaron O’Brien and dipped his hands in the vast wealth of Serendia Academy. And yet, that sharp-eyed prince had noticed Aaron’s embezzlement.

That decorative prince—that mere puppet of Duke Clockford’s!

And then Cyril Ashley, the vice president. He realized it was me embezzling the money. It was foolish of me to stop at erasing his memories. I should’ve brainwashed him. In fact, why don’t I brainwash the president himself—the second prince? Then I’d be able to use the academy’s money for anything I wished! I’d be set for life. Ah, why didn’t I realize earlier how simple it was? Yes—I only need to make the second prince my puppet! And… Ah, yes, I must resume my research at once!

Triumphantly, Mr. Thornlee began to walk through the field. Then he noticed something in front of him. Why, that’s…

“Oink.”

A pig. What is a pig doing in a place like this?

Without thinking, he stopped and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, there were two pigs. As he was wondering where they were coming from, even more started to appear.

Two became three, three became five, five became eight, eight became thirteen…

Before he knew it, he could see nothing but pigs around him.

Right, left, forward, backward—pigs, pigs, pigs, as far as the eye could see…

Eventually, he heard the sound of wagon wheels from afar. The pigs all began to shuffle toward the noise. Even then, their numbers never stopped increasing.

“Hey—what is—? No, stop! Stop, no, someone… Noooooooo!”

The world reflected in Mr. Thornlee’s eyes was now buried, all the way to the horizon, in pigs.

As Mr. Thornlee shrieked, he was buried by the herd of pigs until, finally, he disappeared.

* * *

Monica squatted down next to Mr. Thornlee and held his head in her arms. He was foaming at the mouth, and his eyes had rolled back in his head.

“Wh-what should I do now? I…I went too far…”

When Mr. Thornlee had flaunted his imperfect formula in front of her, she hadn’t been able to help getting worked up.

In the Kingdom of Ridill, the use of mental interference magecraft was allowed only in examinations of those accused of serious crimes or in times of national emergency with the permission of the Mages Guild or the Seven Sages.

“…Ummm, I suppose I could say Mr. Thornlee committed a serious crime, since he was indirectly harming royalty? And members of the Seven Sages get a special exception, so this probably won’t be considered a violation of the law. But… B-but what if it is…? Louis is going to be so mad at me… Wait, does that mean I’d be e-e-e-executed…?!”

As Monica muttered to herself, half in tears, Ryn came up behind her and tapped her on the back.

“I believe Lord Louis would say something like this.” And then she put a hand to her chest and continued, “Anything goes as long as nobody knows.”

Monica could practically see Louis Miller’s handsome, malicious smile before her eyes. She wiped her tears on her sleeve as Ryn easily lifted up the white-eyed Mr. Thornlee.

“I shall deliver this man to Lord Louis. I believe he will tor—interrogate him, then dispose of him as necessary.”

“Um, yes, thanks…”

Leaving aside Victor Thornlee’s role in all the embezzlement, using a mental interference spell—a forbidden technique—without permission meant his disposal would fall to the Mages Guild.

There might be confusion at the academy over the sudden disappearance of a teacher, but Louis would do something about that, too. Probably. Monica breathed a sigh of relief.

On Ryn’s shoulder, Mr. Thornlee was muttering to himself. “The pigs… The pigs…”

Confused, Ryn asked, “What sort of dream is he having at the moment, exactly?”

“Um, well…” Monica fidgeted with her fingers, then smiled just a little and said, “He’s dreaming of a very beautiful sequence of numbers.”