A Witch's Task - A Mother's Past

Asura's heart tightened, the emerald energy flowing rapidly, as the moment the words appeared in his mind and left his lips with a whisper, a twisted smirk formed upon his lips that caused even Medea's eyes to widen.

Like the thrill of the kill, he felt delight when twisting magic to his desire.

The intense feeling of pressure and force around his fingertip caused a painful yet exhilarating stabbing pain before the green and black orb, no larger than a fingernail, formed in reality.

'This is it.'

A focused and condensed stream of emerald energy surged forth from his fingertips with precision akin to a master swordsman's thrust.

Like a pinpoint laser, the beam pierced through the tranquil air of the forest, its trajectory unwavering as it homed in on its target—the Monstro Deer.

"!!!"

"Haah!"

His eyes narrowed into dark slits, his beautiful eyes now barely visible only darkness as the emerald ray pierced the sky with a deadly accuracy reminiscent of a warrior's decisive strike.

The beam penetrated the creature's skull to bypass its thick hide and precious meat. Sigurd's intention was obvious—to maim the creature without causing unneeded harm to its valuable parts.

"You little..."

As the beam made contact, there was no explosion or deafening roar. Instead, there was a silent and swift penetration akin to the graceful thrust of a seasoned swordsman. The emerald light, now compressed to a razor-thin point, sliced through the air with a silent hiss, its path unimpeded by the creature's defences.

The beam instantly found its mark, penetrating the Monstro Deer's skull precisely.

There was no struggle, no dramatic display of force—just a swift and efficient dispatching of the creature. Unable to even release a cry of pain, the deer dropped.

As the beam dissipated, leaving behind only a faint trace of lingering magic, Sigurd observed the result of his actions. The Monstro Deer lay motionless; its life extinguished in a manner that preserved the quality of its hide and meat.

"I did it? I did it!" 

Suddenly, the smug look and devilish face of Sigurd transformed as if that was a lie, like smoke, and mirrored his face like a child that tied his shoelaces for the first time, looking back at Medea with a brilliant smile, seeking praise.

"I did it, Medea!"

He hugged the small witch's body, suddenly lifting her off the floor, which seemed to catch her off guard, her cheeks slightly turning from pale to light pink, before her fingertips flicked and a gust of wind sent him rolling backwards.

"Tch... Call me Master Medea, stupid apprentice; you did well, but... Can you tell me your thoughts and how you used the Radius or Radium modification?"

"Mmmm, I've used a sword since age five, from wooden to two-handed, broadswords and even rapiers." Sigurd rubbed the back of his silver hair with a slight laugh, walking back towards Medea.

"I thought the best way to stop the monster's hide and meat from being blown apart was not something flashy but a powerful and deadly thrust like the rapier."

From how Medea reacted, Sigurd knew his decision to wield his magic precisely had been the right one. He felt grateful to learn the real terms of the magic. It was convenient because his mother had taught him the language before she vanished.

"Technically, you whispered Noctra Beam; that isn't the true name for that spell you used; it would be something like Nox Radius."

Medea spoke with a charming but gentle voice as if she was guiding him, and then she pulled a long staff out of nowhere and tapped his shoulder with a smile. 

'How did such a big thing appear from between her breasts!?'

"However, the way you named it, nobody can deny it. So keep it how you desire. Just know the correct terms and reasons for their names, and you can call spells whatever you wish."

"Maxima, Lanza and Radius are quite important; normally, as an apprentice, you would focus on one of these for at least a week each before taking a formal test with the witches in the village."

Sigurd realised that Medea, although she looked quite young her age was likely far above his; from the wisdom and way she spoke, he could feel it.

There were rumours that the elves could live forever as long as they practised magic, but humans feared such things and instead linked their long life to the Agmar, monsters which cannot die, never tire and hunt humanity in the shadows.

'To think it takes several paladins to kill an Agmar of equal level, yet elves can easily kill them... Is that why the church hates the witches?'

"Now then, my dear apprentice. Since you want to stick out like a sore thumb and appeal about how special you are, maybe you want those young girls to chase you for your superior seed? Heh, foolish boy. Those who stick out are the first to be killed—so, to avoid losing my first and only cute apprentice... I have a task for you!"

"Master..."

Sigurd didn't realise, but maybe part of him was happy.

He trained and trained with swordsmanship until his entire body crumbled for over thirteen years. His hands were only soft and free of scars because of the holy magic of the temple that blessed the water he used to wash them obsessively.

'Maybe I was a little too excited when using magic...'

'I can hear my mother's voice and feel her presence. It is soothing and makes me want to use it more. Should I tell Medea this?'

"What is the task?"

Medea pulled the tip of her enormous hat, causing the cute white cat inside to roll around. Her breed seemed to be a rag doll with tiny legs, but Sigurd could sense magic from that tiny cat greater than his!

"I want you to practise, Radius, Maxima and if you can try to learn what the Lanza transformation will do to your spells. The time limit is one week. You will hunt at least three Monstro Deer and ten horn rabbits daily and give them to the village as a gift."

'Hmmm, is Master trying to have me fit in with the other witches by doing this but also training my magic simultaneously?'

"Understood; anything else, Master Medea?"

"Simple, since you spend so long learning swordsmanship, do not abandon it. However, don't use that rusted crap; instead, use that thing around your neck. Do you know what it is?" 

Medea pointed to the necklace his mother had left him; It wouldn't come off his body.

Even when the church tried to cut the silver chain with a paladin's sword, bolt cutters or even a bishop's prayer, it would not shift. So when he became a slave knight for the church, he was the only one with a private item and suffered for it...

"It's a memento from my mother... but it won't come off. The church called it a cursed item."

For a moment, there was silence as Medea looked at him blankly; her body suddenly trembled as she burst out into laughter.

"Haha, hahaha! Cursed item. Oh god... so stupid, and just like those old men!"

"My dearest apprentice, that there is a Devil Sword. One of the Seven original weapons used by the great ones. In particular, that sword... seems to be, I see."

Her face changed; for a moment, anger, frustration, acceptance, and a smile. Sigurd felt confused before she again pointed at him and gave him an order.

"Bleed onto the black stone and reveal your mother's legacy."