Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 5 - Chapter Ep

EPILOGUE

An Oath on a Tone

After spending the rest of her winter solstice break relaxing at her foster mother’s house, Monica went to the castle the day before the new year. Once there, however, she shut herself away in her room until the morning of the ceremony. She was too afraid of running into Felix.

She’d wanted to hole up for the entire first week of the year if she could, but everyone had told her that if nothing else, she was absolutely required to attend the ceremony on the first day.

So Monica put her veil over her mouth and headed for the meeting place, her steps gloomy.

The Kingdom of Ridill’s royal family would receive their New Year’s blessing at the grand church on the first day of the year, and then there would be a parade to the castle, where the ceremony would be held.

Once the royal family arrived at the castle, but before the ceremony, the Seven Sages would perform a magecraft dedication. Different Sages performed this service each year, and some years multiple Sages participated.

This year, three Sages were assigned to the dedication—the Artillery Mage, the Barrier Mage, and the Witch of Thorns.

The Artillery Mage was to send flowers of flame into the sky and then make them blossom, while the Barrier Mage made sure the fire didn’t ignite anything nearby. Meanwhile, the Witch of Thorns would be making a winter rose blossom—at least, that was the intended program.

“That… That accursed farmer-Sage…”

When Monica arrived just barely in time at the gate where they’d be welcoming the royal family, the Barrier Mage Louis Miller was gnashing his teeth, a vicious look on his face. He was so angry, she thought his long braid might suddenly stand on end. Wrath burned in the eye behind his monocle.

Monica unconsciously cringed and froze in place at the sight of him. The mood at the gate was about as far as one could get from welcoming in the new year.

Monica and the other Sages were behind the big gate—in other words, inside the castle. On the other side, a huge crowd of townspeople was already gathered to watch. She could hear their voices bleeding through. It was enough to make a timid person like Monica cower in fear.

“U-ummm… Good, um, morning…”

Five other Sages were present at the gate. The Artillery Mage Bradford Firestone, with his tall frame and black hair and beard, heard her greeting and gave a casual wave.

“Hey, Silent. Been a while, eh? That veil a new look for you? I like it. Gives you some real gravitas.”

“Th-thanks…”

“And hey, I heard you took down a cursed dragon! You’ll have to tell me all about it later.”

Monica secretly decided she would lock herself in her room the moment the ceremony was over. The cursed dragon incident simply involved too many secrets—Nero’s true identity, her suspicions about Felix, and that shaman.

But just then, Mary Harvey—the Starseer Witch—turned to her and smiled. “Excellent work slaying the cursed dragon, Monica dear. Allow me to express my gratitude as the one who foresaw that disaster. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Oh, um, uhhh…”

Mary’s beautiful voice as she politely gave her thanks carried the authority and compassion of a prophet who loved her country. “One wrong step and it would have been a catastrophe. You saved many lives.”

Monica had done her job as a Sage. She’d been useful. That made her tingle with joy.

Mary heaved a heavy sigh of relief. “But I must say, I’m so glad you’re here! If you’d failed to show up, too, I wasn’t sure what we’d do…”

The word too made Monica pause and look around. Six of the Seven Sages were present. One was missing.

Wait, could it be…?

As she looked around, an old man with a white mustache—Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage—nodded bitterly. “Indeed, indeed,” he said. “The Witch of Thorns still has not made his appearance.”

In keeping with his title, Emanuel had adornments hanging all over his clothing, jingling as he moved. He nervously toyed with his ruby choker and continued to lament.

“The dignity of the Seven Sages is at stake. What could the Witch of Thorns be doing on such an important day?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Bradford casually. “He probably started working in the garden and lost track of the time. That’s usually why Thorns is late.”

Bradford was an easygoing guy who didn’t sweat the small stuff. Even now, he looked more amused than anything else.

In his shadow stood the Abyss Shaman, hunched over and clinging to his staff. “I saw him in the castle gardens this morning,” he said gloomily. “I was moving quietly, so that nobody would see me. But then he spotted me and yelled my name in that annoyingly loud voice of his… It was awful. The absolute worst. I curse him…”

Monica took them all in—the Gem Mage’s open displeasure, the Artillery Mage’s amusement, and the Abyss Shaman’s typical gloominess. She was at a loss for what to do.

Meanwhile, the enraged Barrier Mage smiled thinly and made a suggestion. “Why don’t we fire the Witch of Thorns, then, and make ourselves the Six Sages from now on?”

“No need to get desperate, Louie,” chided a troubled Mary.

Monica couldn’t blame Louis for being angry, though. Another Sage—Monica—had completely forgotten about the ceremony just last year and had almost missed it. She’d been so engrossed in her research that the whole thing had slipped her mind. In the end, Louis had to fly to her mountain cabin, roll her up in a mat, and carry her to the castle. First, he’d had to personally escort another Sage, and now he was going to have to fill in for one during the magecraft dedication. Other people’s tardiness had caused him problems two years in a row, and he wasn’t happy about it in the slightest.

“All right, Barrier,” said Bradford. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

“But what are we supposed to do about the magecraft dedication? The blooming of the rose at the end—only the Witch of Thorns can do it.”

“Abyss can do the same kinda thing, right? Y’know, by controlling plants…”

Ray’s eyes went wide at Bradford’s suggestion. “Those are cursed plants that cry out and attack humans!” he exclaimed shrilly. “You want a shaman to do the New Year’s magecraft dedication?! Are you daft?! You’re a fool, aren’t you?! Nobody even wants some gloomy shaman at the ceremony in the first place… If I did the magecraft dedication, everyone would throw stones at me… Ah, I want to die…” Ray squatted, curled up, and began muttering, “I want to be loved” over and over, his eyes hollow.

Bradford stroked his beard, then looked at the elderly Emanuel. “Got any other ideas for a replacement, Gemstone?”

“…I would, of course, like to do my utmost to make this ceremony a success. But it would pain me to rob the youth of their chance to shine…” Emanuel’s excuses came hard and fast.

Louis pushed up his monocle and snorted. “Artillery Mage, you mustn’t push the elderly. The Gem Mage can’t do anything without the proper setup anyway.”

Emanuel’s cheeks twitched.

The Gem Mage was a first-rate magical item craftsman who specialized in imbuement magecraft. If he’d used a homemade magical item, he might have been able to give a fantastic display suited for the magecraft dedication. But without the time to prepare, his options were limited.

Emanuel and Louis butted heads as Ray continued to mutter “I want to be loved,” spreading a gloomy aura all around him.

This was definitely not a suitable mood for the New Year’s ceremony. Mary, who usually directed the group, sighed. “We’ve got a real problem on our hands. There isn’t much time left…”

As everyone began to lose hope, Monica nervously raised her right hand.

“Ummm… I-is it okay if it’s not a flower for the magecraft dedication?”

Louis’s eyes widened. Monica almost never spoke up of her own volition like this; he must have been surprised. “Well, it’s best that the dedication be appropriate for the season, of course. But anything sufficiently impressive should work… Do you have an idea, my fellow Sage?”

“Something impressive… So it, um, just has to be…something that looks really special, right?”

Monica had an idea of something truly special that she could replicate with magecraft. And it was perfect for the season, too.

For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if she should go for it or give up on the whole thing.

But then she gave her right hand a shake, causing her staff’s adornments to jingle, and said, “Th-then I, um, have an idea…!”

The second prince, Felix Arc Ridill, was riding on top of the parade carriage as it rolled slowly down the city streets. He was dressed in scarlet formalwear, waving to the citizens. Every time the prince, with his attractive, sculpted features, waved, high-pitched cries would break out here and there around him.

Rumors that he had slain a cursed dragon must have already reached the capital. The gazes on him were even more passionate than they’d been the year before.

He responded with one of his perfect smiles, but in truth, the only thing he could think about was the magecraft dedication to be held after the parade.

I wonder which of the Seven Sages will be in charge of the dedication this year.

If he had his choice, he’d have wanted to see the Silent Witch perform it. But her left hand had been injured by the cursed dragon. It seemed safe to assume she wouldn’t be taking part.

As he was thinking about what a shame that was, the carriage came to a stop. They’d arrived at the castle.

The royal family headed to the front gates with the king in the lead, followed by the queen and princes.

The king held a staff and wore makeup to conceal his deteriorating condition. But Felix had taken note of how the ceremony at the temple had been simplified. It had included little breaks here and there, too. The king must indeed be suffering.

The king came to a stop in front of the main entrance. Horns of blessing sounded, and the gates slowly opened.

On the other side were the Seven Sages, all wearing their hooded robes, kneeling with their staffs placed on the ground. This was the highest form of reverence a mage could show.

Felix didn’t notice that one of them—the absent Witch of Thorns—was merely an illusion, courtesy of the Starseer Witch.

One of the Sages, the Gem Mage Emanuel Darwin, maintained his bow and offered words of celebration.

“Happy new year, Your Majesty. At the beginning of this new year, on this day that the Goddess of Light Serendine opened her eyes, the Seven Sages would like to offer you these humble words of joy.”

Once the Gem Mage finished his smooth remarks, the Artillery Mage and Barrier Mage stepped out in front and began to chant. The former’s incantation was short and powerful, while the latter’s was elegant with many verses, like a song.

Eventually, the Artillery Mage—finished with his chant—lifted his staff with his thick, sturdy arms.

“Glory to the Kingdom of Ridill!” he roared.

A huge fireball grew at the end of his staff, then launched up into the sky. It flew high and far, and as it passed the castle’s steeple, it exploded with a boom.

Suddenly, a flower of flame bloomed in the light-blue sky. Firework technology was improving year by year, but this flower was much, much bigger than anything a mere firework could have produced.

Its huge petals spread out through the sky above but never scorched the castle or the city’s buildings. The Barrier Mage had erected a defensive barrier to protect them all.

Felix’s eyes sparkled as he watched.

The Artillery Mage used a multi-layered strengthening formula… Given the power, four layers, perhaps? Or maybe five. He’s known for having the most firepower in Ridill—they say he could even pierce a dragon’s torso. The barrier, too, would need to be quite powerful to contain it, and it would have to be spread over such a wide area in such a complicated shape. Very few people could manage a feat like that.

The flower of flame continued to spread through the air before fading away, ephemeral, as though melting into the winter sky.

And then Felix saw it. The shortest of the Sages stepped forward and raised her staff.

Wait! Is she—?

The decoration on the Silent Witch’s staff jingled loudly. Around it, droplets of light resembling water appeared and formed a loose spiral as they climbed into the sky. Then the droplets turned into ice, each one steadily taking shape. They became long, slender tubes, each of them about the height of a human. Over thirty of them hung in the air.

They’d transformed into something everyone in the kingdom associated with winter—Alteria chimes.

The ice tubes swayed and struck one another, producing loud, clear tones. Mere chunks of ice would never have created sounds like that. The Silent Witch must have adjusted their hardness and density.

There was no doubt she’d used an incredibly complex magecraft formula. And she hadn’t even had to chant.

Felix’s heart began to sing. His cheeks, chilled by the wintry air, warmed up from within.

Alteria chimes were meant to deliver voices to the spirit god. The voices of all those standing here—their cries of joy and wishes for prosperity—were sure to reach that god.

There could be no magecraft dedication more suitable for the first day of the new year.

Amazing! Amazing, amazing…!

The Artillery Mage’s powerful flower of flame, followed by Alteria chimes born of intricate magecraft, ringing out a lovely chorus. The contrast was so beautiful, Felix lacked the words to describe it.

If he hadn’t been in front of so many people, he’d have cried out in joy.

“The great witch has produced a miracle! I can’t believe I get to see it with my own eyes!”

He burned the image of the hooded Silent Witch into his mind, then made an oath to himself.

When our winter vacation is over, Lady Everett… I will find you.

Cyril Ashley, son of Marquess Highown, was in his lodgings, fidgeting in front of the mirror as he checked his clothes and hair to make sure not a strand was out of place.

His foster father was reading a book on the couch; as he watched Cyril, he said quietly, “Why not take a seat for a moment?”

“R-right. Yes, sir.”

Awkwardly, Cyril sat down on the couch. He was petrified, his gaze glued to the floor.

That afternoon, Cyril would accompany Marquess Highown to the castle to give their New Year greetings to the king.

This tradition brought in nobles from all over the country, but they each had an assigned day so as to avoid creating a crowd. Marquess Highown was to come on the evening of the first day.

Cyril had wanted to go to the parade this morning to see Felix in the procession, but his foster father had stopped him. The parade in the city got extremely crowded, and if he hoped to see someone riding in a carriage, it was apparently essential that he lock down a spot the day before.

As it happened, he could see the enormous crowd right outside the window. These lodgings were a few streets away from the main road where the parade was taking place, but the space outside was still packed to the brim with people.

I’m glad I did as Father told me…

If he’d been mobbed by people on his way to see the parade, he wouldn’t have had any stamina left for their greeting that evening. Even without going anywhere, he was so tense his stomach felt like it was tied in knots, and he’d barely managed to eat breakfast that morning.

This is my first New Year greeting… I must not do anything that would bring shame on my father.

Cyril lifted his head and gazed at the mirror on the wall. His face was pale, and he had hunched over without realizing it.

I’m always telling my underclassmen to straighten up. How shameful…

The room could use some better airflow, and he wanted a breath of fresh air to clear his head.

“Father, may I open a window?”

“Sure. Go right ahead.”

With his father’s permission, Cyril opened the window and then heard a big boom.

Surprised, he looked up and saw a great flower of flame blossoming in the sky above the castle.

“What is that…?” he murmured, eyes wide.

Marquess Highown, still reading on the couch, said, “The Seven Sages must have begun their magecraft dedication.”

If the magecraft dedication had begun, then the prince he so respected and adored had finally arrived at the castle. And with that realization, his nervousness came back.

As he gripped his aching stomach, he heard the clear sound of bells ringing. They weren’t cathedral bells—those were more majestic. These had a lighter sound, like jingles—the sound of Alteria chimes.

Is someone ringing Alteria chimes nearby?

Cyril closed his eyes and listened to the beautiful tones.

He remembered his visit to the winter market before the break had started. His underclassmen had rung those chimes and sworn oaths on them.

“…I will act boldly without fear.”

Just as his underclassmen had done, Cyril made his oath out loud, then felt a little bit of strength come into him. He straightened his spine and clenched his fists.

“You can do it,” said the marquess quietly. “Now go forth.”

Cyril, having completely forgotten his foster father was in the room, froze in place and flushed up to his ears.

The giant Alteria chimes made of ice swayed in front of the castle gates. Everyone’s eyes were now on the Silent Witch, who had managed the impressive spell.

Normally, Monica would have cringed and run away—she didn’t like people paying attention to her.

But this time, she was able to stand her ground. Maybe it was because of the oath she’d made when she rang those Alteria chimes at the winter market.

She looked up at the bells of ice she’d created with magecraft. At the winter market, she’d sworn on the chimes that she would do her best to behave properly in front of others.

And since she’d already made that oath, what would she swear to these bells ringing out now?

Monica already knew the answer.

I…will prove my father’s innocence.

The Silent Witch’s Alteria chimes rang out through the wintry sky.

Their peals were high and beautiful, and they carried with them the hopes and oaths of the people.