Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 6 - Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Men Passing Through

As the last indigo vestiges of night vanished and the pleasant blue of morning stretched out across the sky, Monica walked up to the edge of Kelielinden Forest.

Even with the sun up, the morning chill was fierce. Frost crunched under her feet.

Monica gently curled and uncurled her numb fingers. The aftereffects of the curse had mostly subsided, but her left hand still stung a little. Probably best not to move it too much.

My objective is to completely destroy all of the Gem Mage’s magical items, including the ancient one—Galanis, the Flute of the False King. I’m supposed to create a diversion… But how should I do it?

Monica looked around. She could mostly guess where the other Sage had laid down traps. The Gem Mage was a genius craftsman, but not a genius hunter, it seemed. He’d left traces of upturned soil here and there.

If she wanted to blow them all away, she could use flame magecraft, though it would be a little flashy. But if the fire jumped to the dried-out trees, it could burn half the forest down. There was no barrier around this area like there had been during the magic battle.

She had folded her arms, wondering what to do, when she heard a young man’s voice. It was coming from the forest.

Lord Cyril?! Glenn?!

As she panicked, she saw someone running desperately out from the trees toward her. It was a man wearing work clothes, with a bandanna tied around his black hair—neither Cyril nor Glenn.

“M-Mr. Bartholomeus?!”

“Is that you, kid?! Can’t believe it’s come to this… More importantly, get moving! Something really bad is comin’ this way!”

She heard the sound of scraping metal from deeper in the woods. Then something appeared from between the trees—a full suit of armor. In its hand was a longsword.

The armor must have been quite heavy. And yet it moved nimbly, as though the metal were regular clothing. Right now, it was after Bartholomeus.

The armor brandished its blade as it ran. Monica was sure they were well out of the sword’s range. But a moment later, the thing’s arm stretched. Monica glimpsed some metal threads near its shoulder connecting the armor’s torso to its right arm. Each one was about the thickness of her thumb, and they were all bundled together.

The armor’s filled with metal thread? There’s no human inside?

The armor’s gauntlet, also connected by threads, swung the longsword down at Bartholomeus. Before it could slice him in half, however, Monica put up a defensive barrier.

“Kid, that thing’s not human—it’s a magical item!”

Indeed, Monica saw no face behind its helmet’s visor. No matter how hard she looked, she saw only more of the thick metal threads.

It was hard to believe, but those threads were somehow moving the entire suit of armor.

It didn’t matter how it worked, however. If there was no human inside, Monica didn’t need to hold back.

And if I want to create a diversion, it should be loud and flashy, right…?

Monica concentrated, holding her right hand out toward the armor.

“In the name of Monica Everett, the Silent Witch and one of the Seven Sages, I command this gate to open.”

A gate made of green light appeared in the direction of her outstretched hand. It slowly opened, calling forth a shining wind. The powerful gust shook her robe and veil.

“Come forth from the edge of stillness—Sheffield, King of the Wind Spirits!”

The wind blowing out from the open gate formed invisible blades that sheared through the magical items embedded in the suit of armor as well as the ones buried in the ground.

The magical items were reduced to scraps, and the armor was sliced apart at each point of connection—the neck, the shoulders, the base of the thighs—and these parts all clattered to the ground.

Metal threads stuck out where the armor was sliced; only those in the torso were still weakly moving.

Does that mean the core is in the torso section?

As Monica observed the armor, Bartholomeus approached it, then took a big handful of the metal wires protruding from the neck and gave them a tug.

It was like dragging the roots of a tree aboveground. The ends of the threads all attached to an object that looked like a broach adorned with an orange gemstone.

The stone was about as big as the loop Monica could make with her thumb and index finger. It glowed faintly.

“Um, is that stone the magical item?” she asked.

“…Yeah.”

The stone’s glow gradually weakened until it vanished without a sound, like a candle burning out.

The moment the glow disappeared, Monica felt a chill run up her spine.

“Wait, that light—was it…?”

A person could only imbue a modern magical item with so much mana. And a spell to control a suit of armor using metal threads would need a lot of it. It was impossible, at least via any technique Monica knew of.

But what if you could embed a magical creature, with a much larger reserve of mana, into the item?

“That magical item, its power source…,” she stammered.

“…It was a spirit,” growled Bartholomeus. “From this forest.”

Now Monica was sure. The light disappearing from the gemstone had been the dying breath of a spirit that had used up the last of its strength.

Monica held her hands, slick with cold sweat, to her chest. She tried to catch her breath. First, she had to get a handle on the situation.

“Um, why are you in this forest?” she asked.

Bartholomeus, who had learned of the Silent Witch’s identity through total coincidence, had agreed to help her under the condition that she set him up with his beloved, the wind spirit Rynzbelfeid.

Monica had asked him to investigate things outside Serendia Academy. So what was he doing here?

Bartholomeus grimaced and scratched his bandanna. “Where to begin…? It’s a long story. But when I first arrived in this kingdom, I was workin’ at the Gem Mage’s workshop.”

“Really?”

The Gem Mage had a workshop in Ridill—and plenty of apprentices, to boot. It wasn’t strange that Bartholomeus, a craftsman himself, would have been employed there.

“The Gem Mage always made his apprentices and other hired craftsmen like me do all the actual work, while he stuck to his own personal research,” explained Bartholomeus.

It happened all the time—famous craftsmen were busy and often had their apprentices fill in for them.

But Bartholomeus wasn’t done. “And then he’d sign the items we created like he’d made them himself. That way, he could sell them for higher prices. I got sick of it and left the workshop.”

Monica was stunned. It was unthinkable. But it also made perfect sense.

Wait. Then Lord Cyril’s broach…

Cyril’s broach bore the signature of the Gem Mage, and yet it had been a low-quality product lacking even a basic safety formula. Maybe one of the Gem Mage’s apprentices had created it in his stead.

And the flaw in the broach caused Lord Cyril so much pain…

Monica was silent, and Bartholomeus shrugged. His usual cheerful demeanor now held a hint of disgust.

“And what do you think that old man was up to while he made us do all his work?” he asked.

“Huh? Um, you said personal research, right? …Oh,” Monica replied, catching on.

Bartholomeus nodded, then lowered his gaze to the ruined gemstone in his palm. “That personal research of his was finding a way to make the spirits in this forest into a power source for his magical items. I happened to catch a glimpse of his research records, which is how I know… Just a coincidence, I promise. I wasn’t trying to sneak a peek and earn some dough for myself, just so we’re clear!”

As Monica listened, she began to think.

Parts of magical creatures, such as the scales and fangs of dragons, were highly prized as quality materials for constructing magical items. But to make a whole spirit into an energy source was unprecedented. Most people would never even consider something so horrifying. Besides, it was practically impossible to capture a spirit in the first place.

But with Galanis, the Flute of the False King, that would no longer be an issue.

“Bein’ the clever man I am,” continued Bartholomeus, “I decided not to get involved in somethin’ so dangerous. But one day, while I was lookin’ up at the sky, thinking of my dear Rynny, I happened to spot her flying in this direction.”

Bartholomeus now knew Rynzbelfeid was a spirit contracted to Louis, but that hadn’t changed his feelings. And he knew that the Gem Mage was conducting research to make spirits into energy right here, at Kelielinden Forest.

“I figured it was dangerous for Rynny, so I came running. That make sense?”

It did, but it also complicated matters.

Nervously, Monica asked, “How much do you know about this method to transform spirits into energy?”

“I’ll be honest. Saw the designs, no idea what they meant. I don’t even know how you’d catch a spirit to put ’em in a magical item in the first place. I mean, it’s not exactly easy to get ahold of one.”

It seemed Bartholomeus didn’t know about Galanis. But now that he was here to save Ryn, it would be difficult to persuade him to turn back. What’s more, Monica had promised to introduce him to Ryn, though only at Bartholomeus’s unilateral insistence.

She’d simply have to hide the details and get him to help her. “I, um, I want to save Ryn, too, so… Um, I’m here to, well, talk some sense into the Gem Mage!”

She decided not to say anything about hanging him, since that sounded far too violent.

Bartholomeus’s eyes sparkled. “Sounds like our goals align. Let’s team up, kid! We’ll rescue Rynny from the clutches of that evil mage!”

“R-right!”

As she nodded, Monica thought about how much trouble this was going to cause her.

At least Bartholomeus had a loud voice that carried far—perfect for a diversion.

Before leaving his dorm and Wildianu behind, Felix removed his uniform’s decorative mantle and threw on a plain cloak. He wanted to keep the uniform on just in case he ran into anyone while on school grounds; it would look suspicious if he wasn’t wearing it.

Once he was off campus, he asked a merchant he knew to lend him a horse and rode off toward Kelielinden Forest. He still hadn’t slept, but he was used to pulling all-nighters.

No classes for the next two days. I’ll have to settle things by then.

Felix arrived at his destination in the early morning. He glanced around, eventually catching sight of a shining gate by the forest’s western edge. That was the gate for summoning Sheffield, King of the Wind Spirits.

Not many in Ridill could summon this particular spirit king. It had to be either the Silent Witch or the Barrier Mage.

From what Wil told me, I’m guessing the Gem Mage has an ancient magical item in his possession… The other Sages are probably trying to retrieve it and cover the whole thing up.

Felix tied his horse behind a tree to hide it, then stepped into the woods.

The Kelielinden Forest had a very high mana density. Someone with a low mana capacity couldn’t endure it for even half a day.

Cyril and Dudley both have high capacities, so they shouldn’t come down with mana poisoning very quickly.

Perhaps it was a stroke of good luck that the two of them had spent all their mana in the magic battle. Mana-rich forests like these were harmful to humans, but they could also speed up a person’s mana recovery.

Silencing his footsteps, Felix listened closely as he advanced through the trees. Wildianu had told him the location of the cave where Cyril and Glenn had been taken—and that they were heading for the Gem Mage’s cabin deeper in the forest. It didn’t take much time to find them.

…There they are. Cyril and Dudley.

He could see the two boys farther back in the trees, dressed in their white uniforms. He also saw an unfamiliar young child and a wolf as big as a boar—the spirits who had kidnapped them, most likely. From Wildianu’s explanation, it seemed Cyril and Glenn had promised to help the spirits.

To think they’d be so moved by the very spirits who kidnapped them…

Stifling a sigh, Felix thought about his next move. He couldn’t afford for anyone to find out he’d come to the forest—and that included Cyril and Glenn. How would he ensure their safety without letting them see him?

Felix put some distance between himself and the others and began looking around.

…There we go.

Felix shed his cloak. The white uniform of Serendia Academy would stand out in the forest, making it a perfect way to draw attention.

I’ll have them keep those two safe.

Guided by the ice spirit, Cyril and Glenn headed deeper into the forest. They were on their way to persuade the man with the flute to stop making so much trouble. According to Ice Spirit, the man stayed in a small house next to a spring, and that was where he created his magical items.

“There’s actually a shortcut, but to stay hidden, we’ll have to take a more roundabout route,” said the boy. They were trying to avoid a section of the woods where the trees were sparse. The flute player probably had the spirits under his control patrolling for Ice Spirit and Sezhdio, so he could bring them under his command.

Sezhdio growled and pricked up his ears, wary of his surroundings. “Be extra cautious with high spirits. Relva the fire spirit, Vestion the earth spirit, and a passing wind spirit whose name I do not know—these three take the form of humans and have joined our enemy.”

Spirits were considered magical beasts, all of which possessed vast amounts of mana. They could generally only live in mana-dense regions. If they wished to leave those areas, they needed to form a contract with a human. With their natural habitats becoming smaller and smaller in modern times, it was said the number of spirits was also decreasing.

Spirits can manipulate vast amounts of mana without chanting, thought Cyril. If we end up having to fight one, we’ll never win.

If possible, it would be best to resolve matters through discussion, but if the spirits were under someone else’s control, that would be difficult. Ice Spirit was a high spirit, but he claimed to have little power left, and Sezhdio was only a mid-level spirit. They needed to avoid combat at all costs.

As Cyril sharpened his focus, Glenn, walking next to him, muttered, “A passing wind spirit, huh…?”

“Does that ring a bell?” asked Cyril.

Glenn folded his arms and frowned. “Hmm. I’m probably just overthinking it… But either way, if we’re up against a high wind spirit, it’ll be a real pain. They’re super fast, and you can’t even see their attacks— Oh!”

Something had caught Glenn’s eye in the brush to Cyril’s right. Cyril turned to look as well.

A fox with reddish-brown fur suddenly peeked out from the foliage about ten steps away.

Glenn’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Oh, just a fox…” He’d hoped it was a rabbit or a deer.

Next to him, Cyril quickly chanted. “Freeze!”

A wall of ice burst from the ground, then wrapped around the fox, trapping it.

“VP?” said Glenn in confusion. “Fox meat isn’t very good.”

“Did you forget what we learned about magical biology?! It was on the test!”

“Huh?”

The wall of ice surrounding the fox glowed red, then exploded from the inside. Tongues of flame leaped out as the wall shattered.

The flaming fox stared at them with sharp eyes—they were scarlet, an unnatural color.

“Magical creatures always keep their eye color, no matter what form they take!” shouted Cyril.

A red glow engulfed the fox, then expanded. From the light emerged a red-haired, red-eyed woman wearing a dress of thin silk. She had the appearance of being in her midtwenties, and she was beautiful, with a sharp gaze.

Ice Spirit yelped. “That’s Relva, the fire spirit!”

The young woman silently swung her right arm. Flames erupted all around Cyril and the others, forming high walls twice Cyril’s height.

There were a lot of dry trees in the forest, and any slipup might lead to a fire. But these flames didn’t spread—perhaps the fire spirit was cleverly controlling them.

Either way, the walls of fire were closing in around them and would soon turn them to ash.

This was no magic battle. There was no barrier for protection, and they could feel the bloodlust emanating from the spirit’s flames. She was out to roast them alive.

Cyril felt a cold sweat on his back. Stay calm, he told himself. Stay calm…

He looked around. They had no chance of beating a high spirit in a fair fight. Quickly, he asked Sezhdio, “Can you run with all of us on your back?”

The wolf sniffed in distaste, then lowered himself, as if to hurry them along.

“We’re getting out of here, Dudley,” said Cyril. “We’ll break straight through!”

“Roger!”

Cyril got his leg over the wolf’s back and put his arms around the ice spirit in front of him. Glenn, chanting, hopped on behind him. Cyril pointed, and Glenn fired an extra-large fireball in that direction.

“Let’s go!” he shouted.

Glenn’s fireball slammed into the wall of flames and burst, creating a large hole.

“Perfect! Now freeze!”

The woman’s flames were spreading, trying to fill the hole. To stop them, Cyril deployed another ice wall.

The spirit’s fire and Cyril’s ice slammed together. The spirit had way more power behind her magic, but the ice was enough to buy them time. In those few seconds, Sezhdio took off.

The wolf shot through the flame wall with impressive speed, despite his heavy load, and began to flee deeper into the forest.

But after only a few steps, Sezhdio’s right front leg suddenly buckled, sending him tumbling and flinging all of his riders to the ground

“Urgh… What just happened?” Cyril said, groaning and sitting up.

Then his eyes went wide. A flame arrow was stuck in Sezhdio’s front leg.

Spirits didn’t bleed; instead, large particles of light began to leak away.

The fire spirit Relva, in her human form, slowly approached them. All around her floated fireballs, each about the size of a fist—over twenty of them.

I have to protect us from her attack, thought Cyril, starting to chant. But before he could finish, the fireballs came raining down.

I won’t make it!

The rain of fire was dazzling, almost blinding. It was about to burn them all to a crisp.

Then, suddenly, something blocked out the light. Plant vines. Each of them was powerful, thicker than Cyril’s arms, and they spread out in front of Cyril and the others like a swarm of snakes.

Are those roses?

The rose vines intertwined and overlapped, forming a wall to protect them from the rain of fire. The fire spirit’s powerful deluge of flame burned the surface of the vines but couldn’t completely incinerate them.

Just as Relva spun around, the ground began to rise quickly in little hills. Bramble branches, all with sharp thorns, burst out from below.

They were sharper than blades, and they skewered Relva all over her body.

Being wholly made of mana, spirits didn’t feel pain, nor did they shed blood. But the light of her mana began to spill out from her injuries.

Relva covered herself with flames as one might don a cloak, burning through the branches still stabbing her. But before they were totally incinerated, more rose vines leaped up from the ground and coiled around her.

The vines seemed to be filled with moisture. Compared to the branches, they were much more resistant to Relva’s flames.

She couldn’t take them out fast enough, and soon even more vines were coiled around her like a swarm of large snakes, binding her in place.

Without wasting another moment, she changed back into a fox, fled through the gaps in the vines, and escaped into the forest. The remnants of her fire disappeared, melting into the air. Eventually, the only thing left were the charred rose vines.

Are we…saved?

Suddenly, Cyril remembered a passage from a book he’d once read.

The hell of thorns skewered the enemy soldiers, one after the next, staining the lands red with their blood. It was a story about the cruelest, most merciless witch in the history of the Kingdom of Ridill—the infamous Rebecca Roseburg, the first Witch of Thorns.

“Hey! Everyone all right over there?”

The cheerful voice seemed out of place as it carried through the winter forest.

Cyril turned toward the sound and found two people. One was a man with curly red hair, in farmer’s clothes, while the other was a purple-haired man wearing a black hooded robe. They both stood out, though for different reasons; they were the sort of people one never forgot.

The man with the curly scarlet hair was Raul Roseburg, the fifth Witch of Thorns. The other one—with purple hair—was Ray Albright, the third Abyss Shaman.

Cyril was dumbfounded. What were the Seven Sages doing here? Ray looked at Cyril, then at Glenn, and scowled.

“Those uniforms are so bright, they hurt my eyes,” he said. “We followed them, and who should we find but the pretty-faced fraudster who toyed with my emotions… Why should I protect the likes of you? This is the worst. Curse you all…”

Pretty-faced fraudster who toyed with his emotions? thought Cyril. Who is he talking about?

Glenn, still sitting on the ground, joined in. “Oh, hey, it’s you! You’re that Sage I met in Rehnberg… Uh, the purple one!”

Ray’s eyes narrowed even further in distaste, and he bared his gums. A gloomy aura seemed to emanate from his person.

Calling a Sage “the purple one” was indeed quite rude. Cyril glared at Glenn, then politely bowed to Raul and Ray.

“Lord Witch of Thorns, Lord Abyss Shaman, I sincerely thank you for saving our lives.”

Raul laughed pleasantly at this show of gratitude and waved his hands. “No need to be so formal,” he said. “We’re not on an official mission or anything.”

“This isn’t an official mission…?” Cyril frowned.

Come to think of it, neither of them were wearing the Sage’s robes or carrying their staffs. But if this wasn’t an official mission, then what were they doing in the forest?

As if responding to his unspoken question, Raul winked. “We’re on vacation at the moment, and we just happened to come here for a picnic! Don’t think of me as a Sage today—I’m just a gardener passing through!”

Cyril wasn’t the only one dumbfounded by this. Glenn, Ice Spirit, and Sezhdio were also speechless.

As Cyril struggled to find a response, Ray said bitterly, “Two men out on a picnic in the forest in the middle of winter…? That cover story sounds like an absolute nightmare.”

“Look, Ray, this is a good chance for you to make friends. Having a picnic together is definitely the sort of thing friends do!”

“No flowers, no girls… I want to go home…”

“You want flowers? Will roses do? I can make as many as you like.”

“Blast. Blast! Why is there no girl here who will love me?!”

As he watched the Sages’ exchange, Cyril fled into his thoughts. There must be some reason they’re keeping their actions secret. But why would the Sages be in these woods?

It was possible they’d come to rescue Cyril and Glenn, but that would hardly require two Sages.

Could this man with the flute be that dangerous? Is the situation far graver than I’d imagined…?

Raul plodded over to Cyril. This man is a Sage. I must be on my best behavior. Cyril straightened up—both mentally and physically.

Raul gave him a toothy grin. “I actually think a big straw hat would have made me look even more like a gardener. But someone told me it would be weird to wear one in the middle of winter. So, how do I look? Gardener-like, I hope?”

Gardener-like? What does that even mean? thought Cyril, giving it some earnest thought.

Meanwhile, Glenn brushed the dirt off his uniform and turned to Ray. “So, if the other guy’s a gardener, what’s the purple one supposed to be?”

Ray’s pink eyes widened. “I… Well, I…” The gloomy, black-robed shaman poked his index fingers together and eventually managed a single word. “……Poet.”

“Yep!” said Raul. “Just a passing gardener and poet! Pleased to meetcha!”

Here were two of the Seven Sages, calling themselves a gardener and a poet. And one of them had just said “pleased to meetcha.” Cyril couldn’t even bring himself to nod, much less to speak.

Watching out of the corner of his eye as Raul chatted cheerfully with Cyril and Glenn, Ray covertly reached into his robe and let loose a bat familiar.

He’d entrusted it with a message—the missing people were safe.

That was it for phase one of the plan. Now, while Ray and Raul were escorting the boys out of the forest, the older guys more suited to fighting would go and string up the Gem Mage, and that would be that.

Ray looked forward to going right home, having some warm milk tea, and composing a poem. Poetry was his hobby. Yes, that sounded quite nice.

As Ray rubbed his cold, numb hands together, Raul patted him a few times on the shoulder.

“So, Ray, a picnic means eating outside, right? Well, I brought a whole sack of vegetables with me. We can all eat them together!”

Suddenly, Ray felt very anxious. Did this guy even remember what they were supposed to be doing?

I made it in time, thought Felix as he silently wrapped his cloak back over his white school uniform.

The Sages had Glenn and Cyril and would protect them.

I suppose I’ll stay hidden and keep an eye on things for now.

Moving from tree to tree, Felix glanced toward where he’d seen the gate for summoning a spirit king appear.

If that was the Silent Witch’s magecraft… Ah, how I wish I could have seen her work up close…

Privately disappointed, Felix heaved a sad sigh.