A Witch That Is Good at Hunting

Chapter 11: Order of the Silver Blades (2)

It had been about two days since they rented a carriage and set off for the Order.

The crickets sang, and the horses eased their tired muscles in the peaceful midnight.

While everyone else slept, Nike secretly rummaged through Rowen’s pack, pulled out some dried meat, and chewed on it.

‘…Smell?’

Nike sniffed an odd sharp scent.

It was less like a smell and more like a presence, a trace of energy. He felt it some distance away.

Yet he was the only one awake, the only one who sensed anything strange.

If what he felt was correct, the presence was neither beast nor human.

‘Work. Praise. Pay. Meat. Rich.’

All sorts of good things flashed through his mind.

This was an opportunity.

Without waking the others, Nike quietly rose.

Shshh, the grass rustled.

Since childhood he had hunted wild animals, so he was skilled at concealing his steps.

He moved near the dying campfire and there witnessed a ghastly sight.

‘Shock!’

Nike squinted one eye.

Strange monsters he had never seen before were devouring people headfirst.

They were dream demons, feeding on human dreams. Their tendrils wriggled into the ears and eyes of sleepers, draining their life force.

Nike, seeing them for the first time, only thought they were disgusting creatures.

He had torn into the flesh and blood of beasts without hesitation, yet this sight still made him shudder.

“Hehehehe…”

“Mmm… good, good. More, more! Mgh!”

“Hehehe… don’t go… play with me longer…”

The people moaned and writhed.

To Nike’s eyes, their twisted expressions and quivering bodies looked like suffering.

‘Rescue.’

He stroked his chin and decided. He would save them.

He now knew not all humans were like the wicked villagers of Sinain.

Holding his breath, Nike furrowed his brow. When it came to a hunt, he was always serious.

Flash.

His figure blurred.

There were three victims in total. Nike resolved to destroy the dream demons quickly before anything went wrong.

“Farewell!”

He sprang up, then came down with his knee on one of the demons.

Smash!

The disgusting orb-shaped thing burst under his strike.

The other dream demons turned toward him.

They paused their feast and slithered away from the humans, waving their tendrils like whips.

“Hideous!”

Nike recoiled, then seized a bundle of tendrils with both hands and slammed it into the ground. Splutch. A sudden massacre broke the midnight calm.

Only one demon remained.

Nike’s face twisted slightly. He was surprised.

The first demon he had killed had restored its shape and now floated again beside its companions.

“Revival?”

Yes, it was a revival.

A moment later, the ones he had smashed were also rising again.

Nike grimaced.

“Witch. Revival. Monster. Revival.”

The world was full of things that revived. He was one of them, but he still found it no less tiresome.

―!

The tendrils lashed out like whips.

‘Kill them all at once!’

Guessing they were not three separate beings but one entity, Nike’s eyes glowed red.

A gray form slashed through the moonlight.

Bang, bang!

Before the tendrils could fully strike, all three demons popped like balloons.

“Success?”

Nike lowered his fists, but his jaw dropped.

The exploded flesh and ichor were clumping back together, forming again.

“Monster! Durable!”

Furious, Nike charged like a beast, ripping, tearing, biting, smashing.

But no matter how many times he killed them, they restored themselves. His blows were endless wasted effort.

“Aghhh!”

Frustrated, Nike wondered if he should retreat.

“You should’ve just left them. I’m sure they were having good dreams.”

“…Boss!”

“Bossr? Hm. Well… Anyway.”

Vigo, who had been there for who knows how long, spoke lazily from a rock where he sat.

Rowen was here too. She yawned with arms folded, watching Nike.

“People. Nightmare!”

“Nightmare, huh.”

Vigo chuckled, then grew serious.

“Perhaps you can see it that way. But a good hunter must use his head. Fists alone are not the answer.”

“Hah!?”

Nike smashed another demon with his fist, glaring as if to say fists solved everything.

He was not angry that Vigo and Rowen had not helped. He did not care.

Rowen unfolded her arms and spoke.

“As expected. He is strong, but he needs to learn hunting skills.”

“Indeed. This is a good chance. Show him how a witch hunter fights, Rowen.”

“Got it.”

Rowen strode forward confidently.

The restored dream demons swarmed around her.

“Nike. These are dream demons, magical byproducts.”

“Byproducts?”

“Yes. Simply put, leftovers. They are born from the traces of magic or scattered by witches to collect life force.”

She clasped her hands and continued to explain as the tendrils weaved into a net around her.

“They are weak, but dangerous. They can coordinate attacks. Most people don't even know they are attacked and die in their sleep. These are among the creatures that kill the most people.”

Dream demons were weak.

But for ordinary people they were trouble, numerous and difficult to deal with.

“Still, killing them is easy. Fire destroys them quickly. Most monsters are weak to fire.”

She stepped forward proudly.

“Watch closely. This is the hunting technique of the Silver Blades.”

Whip—!

Her clasped hands spread apart. From the empty air, lines of fire appeared in a single stroke.

Ssshhhhh!

A metallic hiss cut through the night. What she wielded were silver wires.

To Nike’s eyes, she moved like a dancer, red flowers blooming in her wake.

“…Oohh.”

So such things existed in the world.

There was dancing grace, and there were tools and fire in battle.

Hunters fought with weapons, devices, potions.

It was an exhilarating revelation, like tasting cooked meat for the first time.

The only male witch in the world absorbed the dazzling sight.

“Tools…!”

Screee!

The dream demon shredded by the wires screamed as its burning pieces writhed. This time, it did not revive.

Rowen smiled faintly at the smoldering remains.

“See? A hunter must know things like this.”

She glanced at Nike with a proud look.

“…Fire!”

But he only laughed like a child. He looked as if he had watched fireworks, not a lesson.

“…Did you even watch properly? Make sure you pay attention.”

“Learning!”

Splurt!

Just then, one demon that luckily survived began to flee.

“Ah.”

Rowen prepared to strike again, but Nike dashed forward, shouting.

“Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire!”

“W-What? What’s with you?”

Nike whipped his head around, searching.

“Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire!”

At last he found something terrifying.  

He wrapped his fists in the burning tendrils strewn on the ground.

“Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire! Tools! Fire!”

“Huh? Huuuh…?”

The tendrils were like wires, and they were aflame as well.

Nike had shown frightening quickness in learning and applying.

“Ah… ahahaha! That lunatic!”

From afar, Vigo happily roared with laughter.

Nike’s eyes blazed with resolve as flames danced on his fists.

Boom!

He leapt with great force and the night air scorched.

The heat spread up to his arms, but instead of crying out, he laughed madly.

The joy of learning outweighed pain. The sky glittered with fire and blood.

“Monster. Repelled!”

Crash!

* * *

“Bwahaha! In all my years, I have never seen such a madman like him!”

“…Haa.”

Rowen felt helpless before his overwhelming talent and madness.

She had thought to lecture him as a senior hunter, but his actions stunned her.

Some coated wires with oil and danced in hardship.

Yet there was a boy who lit his fists on fire and fought.

And since his burned flesh healed, there was no scolding him either.

It was simply talent.

His fearlessness and his wild ideas were natural gifts.

Creativity and unpredictability were virtues needed in witch hunting.

Vigo laughed, delighted.

Who else in the world fought by setting fire on their bare skin. And to think he could conjure flames with magic and still chose this way.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

“How can we repay this kindness, great hunter?”

Meanwhile, Nike was being thanked by those he had saved.

Grown men bowed to the boy, which pleased him greatly.

And he had been the first to notice the demons and rush to help.

Quicker to sense danger than even Vigo and Rowen, Nike was a born hunter.

“Money! Hand it over!”

Nike held out his hand. After a pause, the merchants gladly offered coins and goods.

He had saved their lives, and it felt like that was not enough.

“W-Will this really suffice?”

“I heard witch hunters earn a fortune…”

Nike paid them no mind. With pouches of silver and snacks, he went back, content.

“Huh…”

“…He just left.”

“Young ma… no, he is a boy, but he really saved our lives.”

After the cleanup, Rowen and Vigo also praised him.

“But how did you notice them, Nike? Even I could not at that distance.”

“Smell.”

“Hmm. Your sense of smell is keen too huh. Very keen at that.”

“A dog’s nose I see…”

He was truly a bundle of talent.

He saw familiars invisible to the naked eye. He smelled monsters from afar. He wielded inhuman strength. He revived from death, healed wounds.

‘He has not even mastered magic yet.’

Once he learned hunting skills and magic, who knew how much stronger he could become.

Vigo ruffled his hair and spoke.

“Anyway, that was a good experience. You saw how the remnants of witches kill innocent people. Every day, witches cause deaths like this.”

Vigo’s eyes looked weary. The veteran was tired. He needed new blood to carry on his will.

…And he had finally found it.

Nike had surpassed his expectations each time.

“You saved three people tonight. Truly, well done.”

“Rewarding!”

“Yes. To wipe out such things with your strength is rewarding. Do you feel good?”

Nike nodded solemnly.

Clink, clink.

He weighed the silver and grinned.

“Rewarding.”

“So that’s what it’s about.”

* * *

After several more days, the carriage arrived at their destination.

A city where spires clawed the sky, cloaking it. The place was silent, almost sacred.

Nike gaped at the gate.

The towering entrance looked like a scaffold for execution, exuding overwhelming majesty.

Even the foulest witch would hesitate to cross it.

“Tour!”

“…”

There are always exceptions after all. Nike skipped past the gate gleefully.

But naturally, the guards stopped him.

“Boy. Who are you?”

“War?”

Nike glared at the spear the guard pointed, and the man tilted his head in confusion.

“Nike.”

“…”

At Rowen’s sharp voice, Nike shrank back, shoulders hunched.

‘He actually listens to me.’

Rowen herself could not understand why he obeyed her so well.

Recognizing Vigo and Rowen, the guard saluted.

“Almighty and great hunters, welcome back. It’s been a while.”

“Haha. Cut the almighty and great part. I die of shame every time I hear it.”

“You do yourself injustice. Ah, Rowen, good to see you too.”

“Been a long time. Everything is well, yes?”

The guard shrugged.

“Not entirely. The trials for new recruits are near, so Vilnogos is busy.”

“Ah, it’s already that time… wait.”

Rowen realized something and looked at Vigo. He raised an eyebrow. He really was always sly.  

“By the way, who is that boy?”

The gray-haired lad could not stay still, gawking at everything.

His restless air naturally drew eyes.

“You said it yourself.”

Vigo answered blandly.

A moment later, the guard’s eyes widened.

“What? Could it be…?”

Another guard drifted over to join.

“Are you saying the great Vigo has brought a recruit?”

“Hey, I told you not to call me that.”

“My god… this is unbelievable.”

They both looked stunned. After hesitating with their lips for a moment, one of them finally spoke.

“I heard you’ve never once brought a recruit in thirty years of being a witch hunter... You said no one had the talent.”

“You may have taken apprentices, but you never personally chose one, right?”

Vigo chuckled, watching the boy who seemed so out of place in this solemn city.

“A person naturally changes when they grow older.”