A Witch That Is Good at Hunting

Chapter 18: Final Test (1)

Nike followed Rowen.

They passed through narrow, winding hallways inside the building. The structure was like a maze, and anyone new here would easily get lost.

At last they arrived at a remote building no one would think to look for. It was a small prayer room, sometimes visited only by the most devout hunters.

Inside the solemn place, lit only by a few flickering candles, Vigo and an unfamiliar man were waiting for Nike.

“I brought him.”

“Good work. Wait outside.”

“Understood.”

Rowen gave Vigo a small bow and stepped out to stand guard. Nike was left alone and happily greeted Vigo, whom he had not seen in a while.

“Boss!”

“Yo- Nike. Have you been well? How’s training?”

“Going smoothly enough!”

Vigo chuckled, slightly drunk. Nike was still as funny as ever.

“Good to hear you are adapting well. You’ve even picked up some words, I see.”

He received reports about Nike’s daily life from Rowen. From what he heard, Nike was calmer and more obedient than expected.

It seemed his peers helped keep him steady which was surprising.

‘But witches can pretend to be social creatures. Even if Nike isn’t a witch, his habits are practically the same…’

If Nike wanted, he could win the favor of every hunter in the Order.

After a short exchange, Vigo looked at the unfamiliar man.

“Captain. Begin.”

Captain? Nike tilted his head.

Wasn’t the Captain supposed to be that woman nailed to the cross stake? But the man before him was clearly around Vigo’s age.

“We will begin. Nice to meet you, Nike.”

“?!”

Nike recoiled in shock. A suffocating gaze that only he could feel suddenly spread all around him like flowers in bloom.

“Don't be so surprised, Nike. Once again we simply brought in a condemned prisoner, borrowing only eyes and a voice. As you saw, the Captain can't move her own body.”

“C-Creepy…”

The Captain’s every movement was strange and grotesque. Nike stuck out his tongue.

‘Disgusting woman!’

There were far too many mysteries in the world Nike didn't understand.

Soon a black snake crawled out from the prisoner’s mouth.

“Nike. I will test how you handle magic. Try to block my attack.”

“All of a sudden? Attack?”

“Yes.”

The lesson began before Nike could even prepare himself. As always, lessons in the Order were abrupt and merciless.

Sssst!

The black snake slipped out of the prisoner’s mouth, then suddenly sprang forward.

Like lightning, it struck. Its jaws opened wide in midair.

But the viper’s fangs never reached Nike. It froze in the air, dripping venom.

Crunch.

The next moment, its bones shattered.

Nike’s telekinesis crushed it.

His eyes glowed red without him realizing.

‘Even without preparation, this level of speed and precision… amazing.’

Morgana’s impression exceeded her expectations.

‘Interesting. Not through chants or engraved circuits, but instant release.’

Even the Captain, once a witch, had never seen such magic before.

Then, more black snakes poured from the prisoner’s entire body.

Where they came from was beyond imagination.

“Instant telekinesis without preparation. Remarkable. Nike, let us see how you stop these.”

More and more snakes slithered forth. The Captain’s interest grew, while Nike’s patience thinned.

“Crazy woman! This is cheating!”

“Hah, blame the one who falls for it.”

Vigo smirked, enjoying the chaos. Nike scowled, realizing this wouldn't end quickly.

‘Fraud.’

Vigo, Carlton, now even the Captain. Everyone in the Order of the Silver Blades was a fraud.

Nike clicked his tongue at the fact there was no one in the world he could trust.

The black snakes shimmered in candlelight, scales gleaming.

“Nike. How much more splendidly can you fight?”

The prisoner’s voice rose. The Captain was delighted. The snakes bared fangs dripping with venom as they lunged.

“Kill-!”

Nike charged forward too.

He dove into the swarm, biting, tearing, punching, twisting the vipers in brutal hand-to-hand battle.

“…”

The Captain faltered. Even the flow of magic that commanded the snakes hesitated.

Vigo grinned with a sharp laugh.

“Hehehe.”

“I don't understand. How come you fight with your fists?”

This was not what the Captain wanted to see.

Morgana Roxana had imagined Nike eradicating her vipers with stunning magical control, enough to leave even a witch speechless.

Whether by fire, by ice, by conjured blades, or crushed midair with telekinesis…

‘But what on earth…’

She had never expected him to charge recklessly, getting bitten, and keep brawling like a madman.

That was not a witch. A witch never fought so recklessly like that.

Witches were wicked but also elegant and sublime. So mesmerizing they were art itself.

Even witch hunters didn't deny that much.

But Nike… He lacked all grace.

“Venom! Viper! Meat! Snake!”

Bite marks covered his arms, legs, neck, and stomach. Blackened blood poured, his skin turning dark and necrotic.

Wham! Crack!

Even so, Nike never stopped.

In the pit of vipers he raged like a berserker.

From afar Vigo drank and laughed loudly.

“Nike! Did you forget my advice?”

“Advice!?”

Nike, chewing a snake’s head and tearing bones apart with his arms, lifted his head.

Vigo tapped his forehead.

“Use your head. A great hunter always does.”

“Ah, head! Thanks, boss!”

Nike smiled brightly.  

“The bitter taste of fear!”

He grabbed a lunging snake and smashed it with a headbutt. Its neck snapped.

Vigo slapped his own forehead at the absurd sight.  

“Oh my, not that head! I’m telling you to use your brain. A hunter uses tools!”

“Oh, right. Tools…!”

Finally Nike remembered the night of desperate fighting against the nightmare. He shook his head among the snakes.

“Tool! Fire!”

But there were no real weapons here. Only small candles scattered about.

“Head! Tool! Head! Tool!”

“Nike. What are you thinking?”

Beyond the executioner’s expressionless face, the Captain’s bewilderment leaked through. Nike paid no attention and kept turning things over in his head.  

“Tool!”

At last the genius hunter found an answer.

Even as his limbs blackened and his skin blistered, he grabbed two snakes and tied their heads and tails together.

“Snake whip!”

A bizarre weapon was born. He lashed it threateningly.

Whish! Crack! Whish! Snap!

With every swing, snakes burst apart. The efficiency far surpassed fists.

“Using your head makes things easier!”

Yes, people must use their brains.

Nike had finally learned the wisdom of a seasoned hunter.

At the same time, his wounds healed rapidly. Every bite was undone almost instantly.

Morgana, stunned by his reckless tactic, noticed something else.

That rare mana of his was being used only for healing and reinforcing his body.

‘His mana is limited, yet the efficiency is absurd. Neutralizing my venom that quickly…’

The Captain was astonished.

But the blessing of a great Malefic Star was not meant only to heal flesh. It held potential far more advanced, deadly, and beautiful.

To Morgana, who had sought truth as a witch for centuries, this was an insult.

“That can't be called a witch.”

“Didn’t you yourself say he isn’t a witch, Captain?”

“That is not what I meant…”

Morgana tried to argue but fell silent.

Vigo’s reasoning left her speechless, and she didn't know how to react to seeing her vipers killed and twisted into whips.

Even a witch who had lived countless years, steeped in mysteries and the wisdom of evil gods, couldn't understand this boy’s actions.

Thwack!

At last Nike hurled the spent snake-whip against the wall, finishing off the last of them.

His face was swollen, his skin rotted, it was a horrific sight from the venom.

“Khahaha! Nike, you’re the best!”

“I know it!”

Nike was in high spirits. His body staggered, intoxicated by venom, but the dizzy, hazy feeling was not entirely unpleasant.

“Uuugh. Dizzy.”

“Captain, what do you think? After seeing Nike, the hope of our Order?”

Without hesitation, the once-famous witch answered.

“I feel afraid.”

* * *

During the lesson Morgana carefully observed Nike, drawing conclusions.

First, his mana.

‘I can't understand how he regenerates on his own.’

It was faint, but his mana replenished naturally.

If this were possible, witches wouldn't need to worship evil gods at all.

They could have made themselves into gods and received worship without massacring people or kneeling to dark powers.

Nike had the potential to become a god of this world.

Yet he had never killed people or offered mana to evil gods.

Thus his total amount of mana was pitiful compared to ordinary witches.

By Morgana’s calculation, he had just enough to fully regenerate his body twice.

Compared to witches who lived long and amassed more mana, Nike was practically empty.

‘And since he spends mana strengthening his body and using his demonic eye, he can realistically only fully regenerate once at best.’

Even that was possible only because of his extraordinary efficiency.

Leaving that aside, Morgana couldn't ignore his raw talent. The clever flashes and overwhelming skill he displayed throughout.

‘He’s a true genius.’

Centuries of her own bitter research into magic suddenly felt insignificant against the wall that was Nike.

As Vigo said, he was destined to be the greatest witch hunter in history, the one to fulfill all hunters’ long-cherished wishes.

Therefore…

He only needed proper teaching.

“That is not- ”

“Fire!”

He only needed proper teach-

“Yah!”

That was the hardest part…

Morgana demonstrated how to handle fire. A witch could spark immense flames from the tiniest candle flame.

But that was all.

“Nike. Do you understand the principle? Fire magic requires guiding mana through this circuit and then- ”

“Too complicated. Don’t get it.”

Nike didn't grasp a shred of the magical theory Morgana showed.

Magic was the embodiment of mana. Embodiment happened through formulas. Formulas were based on theory.

Nike had no grasp of even the basics.

Without theory, he couldn't understand the formulas, and thus couldn't even mimic simple fire magic.

“I thought he would grasp the principles by instinct after a demonstration.”

“But?”

“He does not understand at all.”

“Hmm.”

Vigo observed Nike and spoke again.

“Then don’t you have to start with teaching him the theory?”

“Yes, but Nike refuses to learn theory.”

“No!”

Nike barked sharply. Vigo asked gently.

“Why not? Learning magic theory would help you.”

“Not fun!”

“Not fun, huh…”

If it was not fun, should they force him?

While Vigo stroked his beard, Nike grumbled.

“And inefficient!”

“Hmm?”

“Inefficient?”

Now Morgana also showed interest in curiosity.

Nike muttered impatiently.

“Captain’s magic. Inefficient.”

“…?”

“What?”

“Formulas. Theory. Structure. System. Realization. All inefficient.”

With one blunt statement, Nike dismissed the accumulated wisdom of witches over centuries.

Both Morgana, the former witch, and Vigo, the witch-hater, were left speechless.

Nike saw the Captain’s magic as nothing but inefficiency.

And as if he was proving it,

Fwoosh—

He ignited fire in his hand.

Not through formulas, not through channels, not through artificial embodiment.

But natural fire, born directly from mana itself.