Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 3 - Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Monica Becomes a Delinquent

In order to transport several people quickly, Ryn would enclose them in a wind barrier, then move the barrier and everything inside it at once. A human’s limited mana capacity would make maintaining such a barrier for a long period of time—not to mention moving it with any speed—nigh impossible.

Monica could make things float using wind magecraft, but she certainly couldn’t send anything over a great distance at this speed. And if she tried to put herself in the air, the difficulty would positively skyrocket. Slowly lowering more than twenty pterodragons to the ground was considerably easier than lifting her own body off it. Glenn, who could easily flit around in the sky despite being an apprentice, was a very unique case.

“This is incredible!” exclaimed Mary. “High spirits never fail to impress, do they?”

She smiled, stroking the box she held to her chest. The container was gorgeous, with lots of gold decorations, and just big enough to lay across both her hands. Apparently, contained within it was the ancient magic item—Starweaving Mira.

It would take a little while longer to arrive, so Monica decided to ask something that had been on her mind. “Um, so Starweaving Mira. It draws in mana from the surrounding land, right? How much can it absorb?”

“The movement of the stars greatly affects its power. If used during the day, it can only absorb less than a tenth of the mana it can at night. But when the stars are out and in a good position…I suppose it could absorb two or three Corlaptons’ worth of mana. And that’s what we’re going to see tonight!”

Monica remembered the witch saying the revolutions of the stars were good this year. Apparently, the decision to hold a magical dedication this autumn had been made with the ancient magic item’s properties in mind. That made a lot of sense to her.

Mary quietly slid over to Monica, then whispered in her ear, “I can’t say this out loud, but the mana Starweaving Mira absorbs can also be converted into an attack spell. Depending on how you use it, it could function as a weapon of war… That’s why it’s sealed away most of the time.”

If an attack spell used the mana absorbed from such a vast area—when Monica did a rough calculation of its power, she grimaced. It would probably be dozens of times stronger than her own spirit-king summoning—easily enough to blow away an entire town. Mary was right. Under the proper conditions, it could easily be used as a weapon of war.

“U-um, if that’s true, isn’t it a really important secret…? Is it okay for you to, well, tell me about it?”

“Tee-hee. I don’t see a problem with a Sage knowing, do you? We’re top-ranked mages, after all. And one day, you may end up using Starweaving Mira yourself.”

I really hope that day doesn’t come, thought Monica privately.

Ahead of them, Ryn piped up. “The town is in sight. Where would you like to land?”

“Well, now. If I came down from the sky right onto the altar, wouldn’t that be something?”

Monica’s eyebrows shot up at the suggestion, and she shook her head fiercely. “U-ummm, I would, errr, r-rather you set us down somewhere that w-won’t stand owph!”

Two of the Seven Sages falling out of the sky like that would certainly make for a brilliant festival display, but Monica didn’t intend to be up on that altar to begin with. If she could, she’d be watching the magical dedication from a quiet spot without many people around.

“Oh, are you sure? In that case, let’s land behind the church where the ceremony’s being held. Could you bring us as close to the church’s wall as you can, Ryn, dear? I’ll create an illusion so that we’re not conspicuous.”

Mary then began to quickly chant a spell. When she was done, she waved a slender finger, and faint silvery particles of light surrounded all of them.

Monica couldn’t see what they looked like from the outside, but she assumed they were wrapped in the same pattern as the church wall. If only there were a way to completely avoid notice, she thought… Like an illusion to make you see-through.

Illusion magecraft was an incredibly advanced skill. Monica could use a little, but it took so much mana and involved so many restrictions that she barely ever chose to.

Even Mary’s lips pursed somewhat as she maintained the illusion, as though she wasn’t quite satisfied with her work.

“Illusions are so difficult, aren’t they?” she said. “I’m confident I could replicate the night sky to perfection, since I’ve spent so much of my life staring at it, but this…”

She may not have been proud of it, but with the sun down, you’d have to get pretty close to notice anything strange. Plenty of people were on the other side of the metal fence surrounding the church, but none of them was even looking in their direction.

Ryn set them down lightly, without a sound. The spirit was always suggesting new and “fun” ways of landing, but she must have picked up on how little Monica wanted to stand out that day.

“Let’s stick to the wall and go around,” urged Mary.

As Monica started walking, her gaze casually strayed to the other side of the fence. And then she froze.

Huh? Wait. Is that…?

Someone walking through the crowd had caught her eye. They wore a white mask on the upper half of their face and a cloak with black wings around their shoulders. They must have been dressed as the underworld watchman.

But what had caught her eye were the long legs she could see stretching out from the hem of the cloak. Monica would never mistake their length, nor that perfect golden ratio.

“P-Pri…,” she said suddenly.

“Oh? What’s the matter, Monica dear?” Mary asked. She and Ryn looked at Monica, confused.

If it were only Ryn here, Monica could have told her the prince was at the festival and asked her to tail him. But Mary didn’t know about her secret mission.

“Um, well, I just saw someone I know over there…,” she said. “I’m, um, going to go say hello!”

Since they were right near the church’s back gate, Monica flew through it and began searching for that golden ratio—also known as Felix. But she had trouble finding him; had he moved too deep into the crowd? She saw people here and there dressed as the underworld watchman, but none with blond hair and a body that obeyed the golden ratio.

Why would he even be here? He didn’t have anyone like a guard with him. Did he sneak out like Lady Isabelle?

At any other time, Monica wouldn’t have been this panicked, but they’d just had a big incident with an intruder at the chess competition the day before. She couldn’t help feeling anxious.

She was supposed to be his bodyguard—she couldn’t overlook him walking around alone like this. I have to find him, she thought.

Raising her head, she glanced around again but was quickly mobbed by people. It was after sunset, but the town was lit up with lanterns, and the streets were packed from end to end with people. Apparently, everyone was here to see the Starseer Witch’s magical dedication.

Each time Monica, who was quite petite, thought she had made it a step forward, she found herself carried off to the side by the crowd. And when she tried to get back, she ended up going backward for some reason, ultimately falling to the side of the street.

“Oof. Owww…”

Her social anxiety had gotten a lot better recently, but only to the extent that she was able to walk around town when Nero or Lana was with her. Getting jostled by throngs of people at a festival on her own was not conducive to staying calm.

Now on the side of the street, she suddenly remembered to breathe. She gasped for air, tears forming in her eyes. She looked up and saw people, people, and more people… It was too overwhelming. She felt dizzy.

Crowds like this brought back her very worst memory.

But these were festive streets, not at all like the place from her past. She knew that, but the commotion of people going every which way forced her mind to draw the connection anyway.

She heard the voices of the mob, calling out to burn the sinner.

The sounds in her ears grew ever louder, and her vision blurred.

“Fath…er…”

The memory she’d been keeping locked away slowly became more vivid.

As she stood there, no idea what to do, her face white, someone’s arm bumped into her shoulder. Monica fell onto the road rear first. She immediately covered her head with her hands and whimpered.

“Eeeek, u-ugh…”

Then the person who had hit her arm addressed her.

“Whoops, sorry ’bout that. You okay, runt?”

But right now, even a voice from right above her couldn’t reach her ears.

The man who had bumped her scratched his cheek, looking troubled. He had black hair and a beard and wore a bandanna. He had small irises, full lips, and the kind of prominent features you didn’t generally see in this area.

He squatted down in front of the trembling Monica, then fished something from his sack and stuck it out in front of her. It was a doll made from woven straw. It sort of looked like a chicken, but its comb was awfully big for a chicken. Too big.

“Come on! It’s me, a chicken! Bok-bok-bok! Squaaawk!” he said as he wiggled the chicken doll around, twisting his throat and pursing his lips—even widening his eyes—to imitate a chicken’s cry.

Monica watched the impressive act, her mouth hanging open. Eventually, the man wiped the sweat off his brow, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Heh-heh. Did you like my chicken impression? It’s my secret weapon. Used to make my crying little sister burst out laughing when we were kids.” He grinned, then asked, “So, runt, are you lost?”

“Um, not exactly, but I am, um, looking for someone…”

“Who is it? They in costume?”

“He has blond hair…and, um, he’s in an underworld watchman costume…,” answered Monica as she tried to calm her wildly beating heart, her panic finally subsiding.

The man nodded, then looked over the crowd. “Don’t see anyone like that around here. Ah, well. I’ll look for him with ya, so quit cryin’, all right? No need for that. It just don’t sit right with me, makin’ a girl your age cry.”

“Thank…thank you…,” managed Monica through her sniffling.

The man set off walking, ruffling her hair as he did. Every few steps, he would check to make sure she hadn’t gotten carried away by the crowds. Monica desperately moved her short legs, trying to keep sight of the man’s bandanna lest she lose her way.

After a few minutes of walking, the man looked at the crowd in front of him and said, “Oh!”

Apparently, there was a performance going on in the midst of all the people. Monica was too short to see any of it, but she managed to make out a couple of the lines.

“Please, Princess Mariabell, accept this. It is for you.”

“Ahhh! A black agate, darker than the night sky… There can be no doubt. This is the treasure of our royal family, once stolen by the wicked dragon!”

Monica didn’t have much interest in theater, but the man seemed to think otherwise. He stopped, put his hands under her sides, and easily picked her up. “Look!”

“Hyaaah?!” cried Monica, her entire body going rigid with tension and terror.

The man laughed, pleased with himself. “See? You’ve got a perfect view from up here!”

On the simple raised platform was a man who looked like an adventurer wearing armor and a princess in a dress. They were talking to each other.

“This is The Adventures of Bartholomew Alexander. Good book, eh? And I love the main character’s name.”

“Oh,” said Monica noncommittally.

The man set her back down on the ground, then gave her a self-satisfied wink. “My name’s Bartholomeus. Basically the same name as Bartholomew here in Ridill. Pretty cool, huh?”

She had guessed as much from his features, but apparently Bartholomeus wasn’t from Ridill. Judging by his name, he might have been from the Empire.

But as she stood thinking, she was once again nearly carried off by the crowds. Bartholomeus quickly grabbed her by the collar of her coat. “Whoa, there. Keep your wits about you, or the souls of the dead’ll drag you to the underworld. They say the dead come back tonight, ya know.”

His eyes shot open, and he thrust out his jaw in an expression meant to strike fear. He seemed to put so much energy into every little thing he did—like when he’d imitated a chicken earlier.

When Monica gave a start and locked up, he cackled.

“We’ve got a festival back home kinda like this. The dead come out to play—or, well, to settle old scores. We wear scary masks to frighten away any that would try an’ attack us.”

Different lands had different cultures. The idea of threatening the souls of the dead fascinated Monica.

Bartholomeus looked over at the bells adorning the streets and narrowed his eyes. “That festival’s fun and all, but… Bells to mourn the dead and send ’em off, eh? That’s a good tradition.”

As he spoke, he did so with a serious thoughtfulness. Is there someone he wants to send off as well? thought Monica idly, following his gaze to the bells.

How many people could properly say their good-byes to a loved one in their dying moments? How many could build a proper grave for them, offer flowers and prayers, and mourn their passing? In times of war and famine, there must have been many who couldn’t. Perhaps their wishes and prayers had created these traditions.

Monica knew the pain of not being able to say good-bye—of not being able to mourn someone’s death properly.

Father…

If ringing those bells was a way to mourn the dead, then it was also a form of salvation for those who had been left behind.

“Uh-oh. Looks like the play’s about to end,” said Bartholomeus. “Everyone’s gonna start moving. Don’t get lost, runt!”

“O-okay!”

As Monica hurried to catch up to the man, someone hit her in the shoulder. Without thinking too much about it, she turned around—and fell silent.

Standing behind her was a tall young man wearing an underworld watchman costume. He had brilliant blond hair that swayed in the night breeze, and the body beneath his cloak was perfectly balanced—the golden ratio.

“Hey, there. So this is where you were. I’ve been looking all over,” said the underworld watchman calmly, a grin on his face.

“Pri— Mmmph!”

The costumed boy quickly put a black-gloved hand to her lips before she could shout the word. Bartholomeus looked dubiously between him and Monica, but a moment later, his expression cleared.

“Oh, wait. That the guy you were looking for?”

“U-um, well…” Monica was covered in a cold sweat now. Her gaze wandered.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the boy replied. “Thanks so much for keeping an eye on her.”

“Hey, no problem at all,” replied the man happily. “No getting lost again, runt. Got it?” He laughed, then waved to Monica before disappearing into the crowds.

Left behind, she awkwardly looked back up at the underworld watchman. That radiant blond hair and those long, slender limbs… Then he used a gloved hand to remove his mask, revealing a beautiful face with a gentle sweetness to it.

Standing before her was the second prince and the very person she was supposed to be guarding—Felix Arc Ridill. She had wanted to find and watch over him in secret, but instead he’d found her.

Wh-what now…? She wailed to herself, still drenched in cold sweat.

Felix crouched a little and met her gaze. “Was that someone you know?”

“No, well, I got lost, and he spoke to me…”

“You shouldn’t trust people you’ve just met so easily. There are plenty of villains out there who would use the cover of the festival to commit their evil deeds.”

The prince had a point, but there was something more important Monica needed to ask him. “Um, what are you, uh, doing here…?”

“Can’t you tell?”

Monica gave him a close look up and down, making sure not to miss anything. His costume was very elaborate. “You, um, look like you’re…enjoying the festivities,” she ventured.

“That’s right.”

She stole a glance around them. Still no guards in sight. Why is the prince at a festival without any bodyguards? Oof, my stomach’s starting to hurt… She tried to be inconspicuous as she pressed a hand to it.

“And what about you?” he asked. “You looked more like you were searching for someone than enjoying the festival. Who were you looking for, I wonder?”

Monica’s face stiffened in surprise. Had Felix noticed her wandering the crowds? Had he been watching her? For a moment, she considered lying to him by saying she’d come with Isabelle. But Isabelle would be the one to suffer if he saw through her lie.

“I… I’m by myself. I wasn’t with anyone.”

“You’re telling me you came here to have fun all by yourself?” His eyes narrowed into a teasing look; he must know she was lying.

Of course he’d be suspicious. He knew how withdrawn she always was. If someone else hadn’t invited her, she’d never have come to a festival.

He suspects something’s up. I have to think of an excuse. Something that would make coming to the festival alone not seem strange… A reason…

And so the Silent Witch, a Sage renowned for being one of the greatest minds in the kingdom, racked her incredibly powerful brain for all it was worth in order to think of an excuse.

“I—I, um… There’s actually something I’m hiding from you.”

“Yes?” asked Felix, seeming faintly amused.

Monica balled her hands into fists and raised one corner of her mouth in an effort to imitate the awful expression she always saw Louis make. Her whole body was trembling as she tried her best to act tough. Then she made a bold declaration.

“To tell the truth, um, I’m a delinquent!”

“……”

“So, yes! I came here all by myself to enjoy the nightlife!”

Felix remained silent for several seconds, his face expressionless. But then he burst out laughing so hard, his shoulders shook. “A delinquent… So you’re a delinquent… Heh-heh. I see. Then you’re like me. We’re fellow delinquents.”

“Y-yes! Fellow delinquents!”

“Then I’ve got a suggestion. What do you say we stick together and stay out late on the town? It’s more fun the more people you have, so it will be twice as fun together.”

That was the best proposition Monica could have hoped for. Now she could be his bodyguard in plain sight. “I, um, would like that! Thank you!”

She tucked all thoughts about the magical dedication away in a corner of her mind. Protecting Felix was more important right now. She bowed to him in a very un-delinquent-like way.

Felix started chuckling again. It wasn’t his usual calm, gentle laughter, though. He wasn’t trying to hide how much fun he was having. “While we’re here, call me Ike. Got it?”

“Um…Lord Ike?” Was that supposed to be a play on his middle name, Arc?

As Monica was whispering the unfamiliar name to herself—Lord Ike, Lord Ike—Felix pressed his index finger to her lips. “Not Lord Ike. Just Ike. We’re fellow delinquents, right, Monica?”

“But I…” She trailed off, troubled.

Felix reached out a hand to her and said, in an amused tone, “Let’s be off, then, Monica. The night may be young, but it passes in a flash. Let’s party hard while we have the chance!”

He put his mask back on, took the bewildered Monica’s hand, and started walking. Despite the crowds, he managed to slip by everyone, seeming much more accustomed to this than she was.

“So where do you usually hang out?”

“…Huh?”

Felix looked at her with a grin that seemed more teasing than usual.

Monica racked her brain to try and think of what people did for fun in town. For someone who generally stayed in both day and night fiddling with numbers and magic formulae, “hanging out” was unknown territory for her. Especially at night like this. Why did people go out at night?

“As a delinquent, you must be quite used to fooling around at night,” prompted Felix. “What sort of shops strike your fancy?”

“Um, well… That is…”

After a bit of stammering, she had an epiphany. She’d just experienced this sort of “fooling around” a couple of hours ago! And it was the kind only nobles could experience—not commoners! It was doubtless a model answer for the question of what a Serendia Academy student might do out at night. Her eyes sparkled like she’d just solved a complex equation.

Confidently, she answered, “I partake in feasting and debauchery surrounded by beautiful young men!”

At last, Felix broke out into such uproarious laughter he had to hold onto his sides. Monica watched him in a daze. This kind of behavior from Felix was usually unthinkable.

Finally, the prince took off his mask and wiped his tears. “If that’s what you’re into, I can escort you to an establishment of very high repute.”

“No, I don’t, well… I’m, um, already full, so…” After all, she had just been waited on by beautiful young men at the Starseer Witch’s mansion. “Pri—er, Lord I—er…Mister? Ike, we should—”

“Just Ike.”

“…Oof. I-Ike, I’ll, um, go wherever you’re going,” she said, stumbling over her words. Then she sneezed and began to shiver.

Even with the heat of the festivities, the town was still chilly thanks to the nighttime autumn wind—it was nearly winter. A lot of people she saw walking around had costumes made of fur, which looked very warm.

Felix returned his mask to his face and walked out in front of Monica again. “Let’s get you something warmer to wear first. Come along.”

Parting ways with the lost little runt, Bartholomeus thought to himself, Ah, I always feel nice after doin’ a good deed. Feeling refreshed, he made his way into the venue where the ceremony was to be held. Which was, of course, a crime.

The dedication was to take place in the town’s largest church—specifically the square in front of the building. Security around the church was strict, but Bartholomeus loudly bragged he’d come to do repairs on the altar and strode right inside. He had actually been asked to repair this church’s plumbing and fence in the past, and since he was wearing a craftsman’s garb at the moment, nobody doubted him.

Most importantly, he hadn’t come here to steal anything. He just wanted to get a nice, close look at this so-called ancient magic item. Repeating this to himself made him bold, which was probably why the guards hadn’t been suspicious.

And since he’d come to do repairs here before, he knew the church’s layout already. If they want to keep the item safe, it’ll probably be with the sacred utensils—in the little room to the side of the altar.

Keeping his steps quiet, Bartholomeus snuck across the church. He reached the little room shockingly easily, not even passing anyone on the way. Was everyone busy enjoying the festival?

Anyone more used to trespassing would have considered the lax security suspect, but Bartholomeus was optimistic. That’s karma for you! he thought as he opened the door to the room.

The door wasn’t locked. Unbothered, Batholomeus’s only thought was, I sure am lucky today! as he set foot into the room.

There were no windows, so it was pitch-black inside. Bartholomeus lit the lantern he’d brought with him and illuminated the interior. In front of a shelf storing all the little items for use during services was a small table, and on it was a box. It stood out right away.

“Ha-ha! Bingo.”

Bartholomeus put his lantern on the table and took a closer look at the box. It was decorated with jewels and just big enough to hold in both hands. It wasn’t locked, either.

He opened the lid. Inside, resting on a velvet setting, was an elaborate metalwork bracelet and matching ring connected by a thin chain. It had an old-fashioned design, where the gold chain and jeweled decorations were meant to rest on the back of your hand.

“So this is the ancient magic item…!”

In his excitement, Bartholomeus picked up Starweaving Mira and held it up to his lantern. He gave the exquisite chain a little shake and heard it jingle—and mixed in with the sound of the chain, the rich, full voice of a woman vibrated the air around him.

“My beloved…”

“Wah-ha! These things really do have a sense of presence, eh—? Wait, did I just hear a voice?”

“Oh, oh, my beloved. You’ve come to save me from my imprisonment, haven’t you?”

Bartholomeus’s remark overlapped with the woman’s voice. He was hearing it from down at his hands. In his shock, he tried to let go of the item. Unfortunately, his hand moved on its own, picking up the bracelet and passing his right wrist through it.

“What’s goin’ on here…? I can’t control my arm…”

The bracelet had looked small to him, but as his hand went through it, the item grew in size. And once it moved past the joint, it shrank back down, changing its form to clamp perfectly onto his skin.

Then his left hand picked up the ring connected to the bracelet and slipped it onto his finger. It fit perfectly. The white-starred ruby embedded in the chain flashed eerily.

“…I will never again let you go. I swear it. Oh, my beloved. I love you. I love you so much.”

A red sigil appeared on his middle finger—the seal of a contract. The magic item had acknowledged him as its user. Even with his limited knowledge, he could tell things were going south very quickly. At this point, he wouldn’t be able to claim the only thing he’d stolen was a glance.

“And now, my beloved, it is time for us to elope.”

His right hand—the one now encased in Starweaving Mira—lifted against his will and pulled the rest of him out of the room. Once he’d exited into the chapel, his right arm lifted even higher. As if pulled by the hand of an invisible god, Bartholomeus’s body lifted off after it…

“Gyaaaaahhhhhhh!”

He screamed as his body burst through the chapel’s stained glass window, shattering it, and flew outside.