〈 Episode 19 〉 Witch's Dream 1

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"Revenge..."

It was a name that didn't seem quite right to me. It was like the name of a shop with an awkward sign, or the feeling you get when you look at something strange. Maybe it's because I've lived in the slums all my life, thinking only of survival, escape, and not giving up my stomach today.

'Maybe that's why he was so easy to train.

Because Noel had chosen it, and because it was easy to handle, I found myself unworthy of the word revenge.

"Get yourself warmed up. I had a hard time keeping you alive when I pulled you out of the lake, you were as cold as a glacier up there in the north."

Trying to be friendly, the witch tells me to come to the campfire. I slowly climb out of the cart and approach her.

"Are you still trying to run away?"

The rock is secretly in my hand. At the witch's words, I gently drop the rock.

"How do you know?"

"Of what?"

"That I'm cheating."

The butler, Noel, and now the witch could sense what I was thinking or doing.

"Hmm."

The witch stared at me for a moment, fanning the flames of the campfire.

"Why?"

"No, I mean, in the midst of all this, you're not angry...or are you thinking again without resorting to anger?"

"What?"

"Survival, you're worried."

She pulls an apple and some dried jerky out of her bug-out bag and tosses it to me. I catch it and stare at the dried jerky and the crisp apple.

"Survival..."

Old habits die hard. I was worried about survival, even in the midst of this. Yes, the question I asked her now was how she knew about the trick.

"When the Earl of Deckard's men were after us.

I figured I could at least come up with a defense.

"Let's eat and talk. This is going to be a long story."

As if to assuage my curiosity, the witch offered me a crisp apple, popping it into her mouth, as if to reassure me that the sleeping pills hadn't burned off, or perhaps she was exaggerating to tease me.

"I don't have anywhere to go anyway.

She's the last person I need right now, with only one body.

"No...the Earl.

The Earl of Deckard could need me.

"First, I've been thinking hard about what you're most likely to want to know."

She removes the witch's large hat, letting her blonde hair fall loose.

"Do you think the Earl of Deckard will come after you?"

An heirloom spell, comparable to a curse, and they could come after me to finish it.

"I don't think he'll chase me, at least not yet."

"What?"

"I'm finally in a position to listen. Now, then, student of the Witches' Society. Listen carefully."

A different tone of voice. It seemed to mimic the words of an interesting teacher or mentor, perhaps one of the people she knew.

"Why did I say once, because it can be found in the fault lines of hereditary magic."

Her answer left me with more questions. How does she know about the spell, and is she the one who did it, or who is involved, and how does that tie into why she saved my life, and...most importantly, if I interpreted her words, 'for now' means that the Count will track me down if I'm still alive. Biting into the apple again, the witch opened her mouth.

"Hmm, I wonder what I should say to make the interpretation quicker... Yes. It's a mirror."

"A mirror?"

"Yes. Lore magic is called kin magic, a powerful and terrifying magic that can only be wielded by those who are blood related."

"Tadak!

The bonfire lights up the night woods, and the witch listens to the owl's hoot, then speaks again.

"It is the caster's feelings that matter most. The confirmation of killing someone you love is all it takes to make the spell work, and poof, the spell is complete. The spell is complete, and by now Noelle is probably so powerful that she makes you shudder to be around her."

"If it's complete, I'm useless, am I not?"

The spell was complete. To Noel, then, and to Count Deckard, I was nothing more than a discarded survivor. But if they found me, would they track me down? It didn't make sense.

"But what do you think he would do if he found you?"

"Oh."

I remember her emotions, the tears in her face as she looked at me before she was stabbed. Would she kill me if she saw me again, or would she say she was sorry?

"This is why you're worth it now."

I am stripped of my shirt, my wounds bandaged to prevent the slightest harm. The witch's finger pointed to my chest, which meant...

"Does that make me a hostage?"

"Yay! A perfect score! You're quite the student, I'll give you extra credit!"

"...."

Another imitation of someone. Apparently not a very funny person. Once you're in the gag, it's the other person's empathy that counts, so my own vocalizations that didn't particularly resonate with me weren't funny, just a bookmark waiting for the next answer.

"The Witches' Society intends to wage war against the Earl of Deckard, I take it?"

"War? Why would you do such an ignorant, destructive, primal thing?"

"What?"

"Sure, I'm thinking of getting in on it a little bit, maybe as a trade. Why, people throw money at primitive things, like monkeys."

I slowly put the jerky into my mouth. It's been in the cold wagon for a long time, so it's hard to chew. I can only taste the salty flavor, but is that why they gave me the apple? I savor the sweetness of the apple and the salty flavor of the jerky as I slowly stir the flames of the campfire.

"So you're thinking of making a deal with Count Deckard, then, because he can command a high ransom for me."

"You're the real slumlord Mormott, aren't you?"

"Mormot?"

"It means lab rat."

It was a word I didn't recognize. Even I thought of myself as a lab rat.

"What does that have to do with me being able to get revenge, anyway?"

The witch laughed at that. It was as if the devil had now cut to the chase, holding out a contract.

"I will tell the Count that you are alive, but I will not hand you over."

"You mean you're going to sell me to the West?"

"I suppose you could interpret it that way, hmmm, am I not explaining myself well enough?"

She puts a finger to her chin and looks troubled. My irritation spikes at her acting like she's having fun when it's a do-or-die situation.

"You guys are always like that."

"Huh?"

"They've been living in the slums, manipulated, used, and discarded at will. They may be funny lab mice to you, but to me, they're everything."

"Ta-da!

Ashes fly out of the bonfire again, and he tosses a splintered piece of wood next to him.

"It's a life of picking other people's pockets to survive, and frankly, it sucks. No matter how much you act like you're having fun, no matter how much you tell the merchants they're stupid for not keeping their pockets, you can't live without harming someone else."

"...."

I don't know if it was the bonfire or the butler and Noel that stuck in my memory, but my mouth opened as if I couldn't hold it together in the glow of the fire.

"But I thought I lived in hope...that it would be better next time...that if I was betrayed, it would be okay next time...that if I got caught, I wouldn't get caught next time...what choice did I have? That's what a slum kid can do."

"...Well."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me, I just...the raspberry juice was good, the walnut pie was a little hard, so I appreciated the free juice when it was hard. When people's pockets get tight, they'll risk their lives picking berries off the estate, get chased by wolves, and go from guild to guild looking for work, and eventually they'll cry out for my job."

The witch listened. Honestly, I felt a little grateful.

"Stay the fuck away from that pickpocket. It's not like I have a pickpocket's stigma written all over my face, and neither does the new guild, nor the new merchant. With my raggedy clothes, unkempt brown hair, and worn-out shoes, I'm a pickpocket for sure."

I sigh deeply. He's never opened up like this before. I wonder if it's the memoirs of someone who died and came back to life.

"So, I guess I'll just survive as a pickpocket, improve my skills, and get into a rogues' guild, because in my slum, that's the golden ticket. Funny, dreaming of joining a den of criminals."

"Dreams are important."

The witch opened her mouth as if to comfort me awkwardly.

"It's all fake...though I'm glad I didn't get hawked to death like most pickpockets do."

Sofia's mother was probably the one they let loose. Sometimes, when my stomach growls, I remember the bread she used to hand me without any jam. It was crusty, but I remember it being sweet. It wasn't just the bread that was sweet.

"How would you feel if it was all...fake? What if you're a witch now, but it's just what they wanted you to be?"

"To be honest, I've never felt that way."

"I know, but I was just a guinea pig, after all."

You throw a small rock into the campfire. The fire doesn't go out, but the flames grow slightly larger and smaller, as if reacting to the rock.

"All that shit I did just to live, and it turns out I'm a marionette tied to a shitty string... I guess I won't be seeing any more puppet shows."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, but at least I'll sleep better at night thanks to you."

I melted for a moment, glad to hear they weren't after me. I wanted to curl up in front of this bonfire and close my eyes for a little while, feeling so tired, not in my body but in my mind.

"You can sleep. Sleep soundly until tomorrow morning."

I lay down in front of a wooden post and the witch pulls a blanket over me.

"I'm a witch, so reading the minds of others is quite a challenge, but I can see that you want to give me a break."

Her eyes are sympathetic, a kind of pity. I wonder if that's the way I look at Noelle. Her red eyes confirm that she is a witch, but even with such danger, my eyes close.

"For a man so reassured by a witch, you're in for a rough life."

With that, her smiling face, I drift back to sleep. It's been a long time since I've slept without worrying about anything.

.

"Kaaaaaak!!!"

The screams echoed through the mansion, none of the servants entering her room.

"The passing is complete."

The butler, he muttered briefly as he heard Noelle's screams. The moment she had waited for for decades, the moment she could say was a perfect recreation of the Northwell Deckard of old, she whispered to herself.

"Noel...

Compassion shouldn't be the last thing on his mind. Noelle is a young lady, but she will be the best sword to defend the White Count and the Empire beyond the East. At a moment when he should have been looking forward, his mind flashed back to the boy who had died, now a man.

'I must be getting old, too.

"Lord Chamberlain."

Of the many servants, few could speak properly to the butler. The former Earl's servant, who held the highest position of power in the Earl of Deckard's inner circle, and whom even Samuel Deckard could not mess with now.

[Northwell Deckard, Lord Millerson, the Empire's greatest swordsman.]

"And now, Mr. Easton, how much time do we have?"

The butler, Millereson, asks, and the servant bows his head, reciting the information he's been given.

"The western borders have been cleared, and the eastern lords are said to be meeting here and there, the leading families being Baron Chaffon and Count Griffel."

"I suppose this is just the beginning."

Millerson glanced at the bright torches that surrounded the manor for a moment.

"I'm glad we're not late. If the legend is complete, Noel, you will now be the best sword to announce the resurrection of the Earl of Deckard."

And if that happens...

"We will control all of the West, as was once our desire... and the Earl of Deckard will become the greatest house in the Empire, as was once your desire."

"Whoosh!

With a short whistle of wind, the torch was extinguished, and the two disappeared into the shadows. There was a moment's silence before Noel's screams were heard again.

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