A Witch That Is Good at Hunting

Chapter 19: Final Test (2)

“…You said you couldn’t make fire.”

Vigo narrowed his eyes and watched Nike’s antics.

Just moments ago the boy had declared the Captain’s magic inefficient and couldn't even grasp the basics.

So what on earth was that flame flickering in his palm.

“You knew how to use it all this time?”

“Of course!”

“Hm, Morgana, what is going on.”

Vigo tilted his head and looked back at the condemned prisoner.

However,

“H-How…”

The prisoner was trembling.

Wide-eyed with shock, she stared reverently at the fire Nike had conjured, as if witnessing a divine miracle.

“…?”

Vigo couldn't understand her reaction.

Naturally. Someone ignorant of magic couldn't grasp how miraculous that flame really was.

Only those who knew magic well would be horrified and awed.

“Morgana, get a hold of yourself.”

“A-Ah… How can this be.”

It took Morgana a moment to climb out of her stupor.

Of course. The magic blooming in Nike’s hand was a miracle that directly denied five hundred years of witchcraft and accumulated intellect.

Nike quietly stared at Vigo and Morgana with eyes gone red.

There was something alien about him.

‘What is this boy?’

He wore an unusually serious face. As if someone else were standing there.

Soon, Nike released the demonic eye and went back to his foolish look. He scratched the back of his head.

“Magic is boring! For me it’s inefficient!”

“…Says the brat who can make fire.”

Vigo clicked his tongue. Even so, he kept watching Nike and Morgana closely, and her reaction was more extreme than he expected.

“That will do for today. Go back and rest. Rowen!”

“Yes!”

When the tedious magic lesson came to an end, Nike cheered like a child, and soon Rowen led him out.

Even then Morgana was still stunned and not quite herself.

‘I have never seen that unbearably perfect woman display such disgraceful behavior…’

* * *

Vigo used a slightly rough method to snap Morgana back to her senses.

The prisoner knelt with one arm severed.

“Are you back with me?”

“…My apologies.”

“Explain what happened.”

The prisoner nodded faintly. Morgana spoke slowly, laying it out in terms a layman could grasp of just how extraordinary Nike’s feat had been.

“So you are saying he did what even the first three witches couldn't?”

“Yes…”

Was it really that great? His head understood, but it was hard to feel it.

“He can't use magic by the theory I taught, but by his own method he can use as much as he likes. Being confined to the framework of spell formulae is what he finds inefficient.”

“So he wasn’t lying.”

Magic was on a completely different plane. Because Vigo had some exposure to it, he was barely able to understand some of it.

“Without exaggeration, Nike ignores the laws of nature. It is recreation and rule-breaking.”

“It’s that much huh. That, I understand a bit more.”

Vigo propped his chin and nodded. It was definitely welcoming news, yet the more he heard the less he smiled.

Should that monster waver even a little, or fall into the hands of an evil witch, the catastrophe would be beyond imagination.

“Whether it is regenerating mana by himself or using magic freely without formulas… all of it falls far outside anything I know.”

“And so?”

“I don't know what to teach him right now. I can't even grasp his nature.”

For the once arrogant, overconfident Witch of Regret to sound this unsure.

‘Live long enough and you see it all.’

Even Vigo was taken aback by that fresh reaction.

“Teach him anyway.”

The prisoner slowly nodded.

“Yes. As of now, Nike is only a little special. In truth he is still not much.”

Morgana gathered her thoughts and laid out her plan.

“As Nike said, it is true that for the moment, it is inefficient for him to use magic at all.”

“Is that so.”

“Nike’s amount of mana is very small. One slightly large spell would drain him dry. So it is more efficient for him to focus on bodily reinforcement and healing, as he does now, rather than casting.”

“So he himself has chosen to concentrate where it counts huh.”

Vigo nodded in understanding.

“Of course that applies only while his mana is low. If we find a way to increase it, Nike will also fight with magic.”

“Do you have such a way in mind?”

“About that…”

The prisoner lifted her head cautiously.

“They are all forbidden.”

Vigo lit a cigarette and said casually like it was no problem.

“I don't care. Whether you kill condemned men or whatever else, find a way to make the hound stronger.”

“Understood.”

He blew smoke and asked,

“What do you think? Can we throw him into witch hunts the moment he finishes the training camp?”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“If he meets a truly strong witch, Nike will die.”

Vigo silently nodded in agreement.

It was true that Nike had slain the Glass Witch.

But looking back, that was only because she was careless twice in a row and had never seen someone like him, so she failed to respond.

If she had simply realized he revived like a witch, she would not have fallen so easily.

“Hm. You aren’t wrong.”

If he meets a real dangerous witch, Nike will die. Even if he grows a little stronger, he is still only a novice.

“Raise him carefully for now.”

“Yes.”

Vigo unfolded his arms and pushed off the wall he was leaning against.

After that, the two discussed major affairs of the Silver Blades.

Witch atrocities across the Empire, wars with neighboring nations, the state of the realm, and more.

Given the sheer size of the Order, it was impossible not to be concerned. After all, the Order was also an institution under the Papacy of the Empire, so they couldn’t be politically free.

Hence a wise, clear-sighted witch handled the work. Morgana executed it flawlessly.

The Empire and the Vatican’s meddling, the order’s many tasks, and even Vigo’s private directives.

“…I looked into what you asked. You will need to go yourself.”

“Where is it?”

“Annart. There is a person there who lived in Sinain Village fifteen years ago.”

A twitch ran beneath Vigo’s eye. His face darkened at once. It was rare for Vigo to grow this serious.

“Are you certain?”

“Information secured in cooperation with the Order of the Scales. With all villagers dead, this person is likely the only one with information on Nike. It’s a crucial lead to his identity.”

Vigo sighed with an exhausted look.

“…I will have to step out for a while huh. I leave before dawn.”

“I will make arrangements.”

Vigo left the prayer room.

Maggots began to seethe from the prisoner’s now useless body.

* * *

Time passed swiftly.

Nike and the trainees endured a hellish schedule day after day.

Up before dawn for conditioning, practicing arms and hunting, studying monsters, familiars, witches and their traits.

The training was as rough and dangerous as real combat. The trainees danced on the edge of death throughout.

Inevitably they grew far more, body and mind, than when they first came.

Ginter learned to smother his hot temper and became a cool-headed hunter.

Lou Gehrig still had not conquered his fear, but with a weapon in hand he turned savage.

Hestia learned how to cooperate and communicate with others.

The boys and a girl who had been soft and frail now had firmed bodies and defined muscle.

Ginter strutted shirtless at night, admiring his own physique, only to be despised each time by Hestia with a “...disgusting.”

“The boss is a great con man. The Captain is black-hearted. Rowen is a dummy. Lou Gehrig is a coward. Ginter is a clumsy leader. Tia is cute and pretty and beautiful and has a good personality.”

“Nike, what is that supposed to mean? Why is Tia the only one you praise?”

“…Got a problem?”

“N-No…”

Nike learned to read simple text.

“My name is Nike. My hometown is Sinain. My goal is witch massacre. Wealth and glory. Power.”

Even if his sentences were not yet smooth, thanks to Hestia his speaking improved by the day.

Finding reading fun himself, Nike trailed after Hestia everywhere, begging her to explain words he didn't know.

“Tia. What is this.”

“…Gestine’s sexual culture…? Where did you get this…?”

“Ginter gave it to me.”

“…”

Hestia glared at Ginter, protesting what on earth he was showing to the innocent Nike.

“Heh. Nike is grown. He should know a thing or two.”

“…Ginter. You don’t even know when you’re a grownup.”

“What? What! That is not true…!!! You better take it back!”

Hestia snorted and looked at Ginter with contempt.

“…Ginter. You really don't know huh.”

“Eck…!”

Thwack, thwack.

Forehead flicks crashed down like lightning on Nike, Hestia, and Ginter.

“Who told you to chatter without the instructor’s permission? Have you lost your mind? Because it is the final week you think you can climb on my head?”

“…Ow.”

“Ow.”

“Carlton. I will kill you!”

Thwack.

“Gah…”

“The more you learn to read, the more insolent you get huh. It’s time you learned basic manners.”

“Unfair!”

It was the last week of the camp.

With the final exam ahead, Carlton gathered the trainees to announce their composite scores.

“You have endured training well. Before the final exam, I will give you your composite rankings.” “O-Ooh.”

“Obviously I am first, right!?”

“…”

All were livelier and more confident than at the start.

By now they, too, could leave deep scars on the drill yard like their seniors.

Blood and sweat didn't betray anyone.  

“I’m too lazy to speak it out. Here. Look for yourselves.”

Carlton unfolded the grade sheet.

《Composite Rankings》

1st. Hestia

2nd. Lou Gehrig

3rd. Ginter

4th. Nike

“…”

“Fraud! Fraud! How am I fourth! Carlton, did you cook it?”

“I am below my younger brother?”

“Haha…! I am a-above my brother.”

Hestia, who knew she was first, wore a calm face.

Lou Gehrig glanced at his brother and allowed himself a careful smile.

Ginter raged along with Nike.

“Silence, you idiot fools. My ears will fall off.”

Only after Carlton calmed the two with a pair of flicks did he speak.

“Hestia was overwhelming in hunting arts, combat arts, herbology, pharmacology, history and records. In short, a genius. A true one I have seen only a few times.”

The three boys looked up to her.

Throughout the camp Hestia’s skill had been so overwhelming there was not even room for jealousy. She lacked nothing, so the result was natural.

“Lou Gehrig lacks much in hunting and combat, but he was near perfect in the other subjects, so second place. In those he even surpasses Hestia.”

“Damn it~! So I only lost because I am dumb. How did we come from the same womb and turn out this different?”

“Haha. Brother, you should have pulled an all-nighter like me.”

“Shut it.”

“…Ngh.”

Carlton looked at Nike. He was still puffing angrily.

But he had no reason to feel wronged.

He scored the lowest in every subject.

Even Carlton had not seen a failing record this bad in a long time.

“Nike, you are strong but that’s it. The rest is the worst.”

“Hah?”

Nike glared, as if he couldn't accept it. A threat that didn't work on Carlton.

“Weapons training, fail because you refused to use weapons. Hunting arts, fail because you ignored instructions and did whatever you liked. Anything requiring memorization you remember in one glance, but you refuse to write it out, so fail. What do you want me to do?”

It was as he said.

Much of Nike’s report card was self-inflicted.

There were things he could have done but didn't. He also hated tests by nature.

In short, he rejected the camp’s standardized evaluation with his whole being and earned fourth place.

‘Well, the training meant nothing to him anyway…’

As Rowen said, the period was closer to a socialization process for Nike.

Whether someone that ungovernable could actually hunt witches in a team was doubtful.

No matter how overwhelming the individual, against a real witch a man was an egg against a stone.

Carlton offered sincere advice.

“Grades matter. Survival tends to follow the rankings.”

“…”

A heavy line that struck deep came right after.  

“But that is not all. In the field there are countless variables. No matter how smart or skilled you are, compared to a witch you are nothing. No matter how high you fly, humans are only human. Before a natural disaster, we can do nothing."

Carlton raised a finger for emphasis.

“So what truly matters is the will to fight without fear, the resolve to fight together, the grit that does not break.”

Without that, a hunter dies.

“Do not think you are special. Remember. Humans are frail. You fight by clenching your teeth, with spite and malice.”

Highlighting those obvious yet hardest virtues, Carlton concluded the announcement.

“Come out. It’s time for the final test.”