A Witch That Is Good at Hunting

Chapter 27: I Vow (1)

The long peace had come to an end.

Witches still killed people, and witch hunters still hunted witches, but in its own way this had been a peaceful truce.

Yet with Sestria’s attack on the Order’s headquarters, cracks appeared in that fragile stalemate.

The witches had begun to move again.

Soon the world would become even more chaotic.

The Silver Blades, thrown into turmoil, endured days of relentless commotion.

Its surveillance systems were reinforced, more personnel were called in, and the Order shifted into wartime readiness.

The hunters who had wasted time drinking in broad daylight while waiting for their next assignment, now sharpened their senses.

Those who had been sent out on missions returned to headquarters in haste.

The enemy knew of Nike’s existence.

They knew where he was.

Because they were targeting him, his protection mattered more than anything else.

Clink, clink—

Chains scraped across the floor with a metallic sound, waking Rowen from her sleep. She got up while squinting her eyes.

“…Captain.”

“…Stay lying down, Rowen. You must not move yet.”

“…Ugh.”

Rowen sank back onto the bed, the pain in her right arm forcing her down again. Her arm was still covered with violet scars, though compared to the beginning it had already healed greatly.

“I will examine it.”

“…Yes.”

The condemned.

She looked like a woman in her mid-forties, her skin dark and her hair disheveled. She gently ran her hand over Rowen’s arm.

Her empty pupils drifted without focus as she muttered incomprehensible words.

At her fingertips a faint blue glow appeared. Rowen felt the pain ease and the magic consuming her arm began to fade.

‘Magic…’

It was still hard to believe. The very power used to kill hunters was now being used to heal her body.

A once-infamous witch who had killed hundreds of people was now the leader of the witch hunters.

Every hunter felt instinctive revulsion at the thought, but Vigo himself had permitted it.

This incident had also once again proven the Captain’s innocence. Though unease lingered in a corner of her mind, continuing to doubt her was not a wise response.

“It’s all done. Rowen, you may be discharged tomorrow. Just come for treatment once every three days.”

“…Thank you.”

Rowen bowed her head awkwardly, then lay back on the bed at her urging.

Clink.

Dragging her shackles, the condemned moved on to the next patient.

Beside her was Lou Gehrig, battered to rags, and beyond him Hans, missing an arm, and Maximilian, who was in no better state.

Compared to them who were still unconscious, Rowen was quite healthy. Aside from her arm being consumed by magic, her condition was strong.

“…”

Watching the Captain heal them one by one with magic, Rowen fell into tired thought.

Hestia was absent, helping with chores since she was one of the few who remained unhurt.

That left two who had taken part in the final trial but were missing.

Ginter and Instructor Carlton.

‘They must be dead huh…’

She didn’t ask. Even questioning such a trivial matter felt dangerous before the Captain.

So she simply assumed.

It was a world where hunters could easily lose their lives to witches. To say she felt no sorrow would be a lie.

Yet it was also true that hunters quickly grew numb. When the first comrade had died, she had grieved for a week, but now three years later, such things had become routine.

She had lost many comrades.

She had shed many tears. She had also grown calm.

That was proof she had become a veteran.

The Silver Blades itself had no time to mourn a few deaths either.  

The real problem was…

‘Nike. What happened to him…’

The fact that Rowen was alive was indirect evidence that Nike had stopped the witch.

It was possible that the witch had only subdued Nike and taken him away, but Rowen did not believe that.

‘If Nike were gone, the Captain would not be here tending to the likes of us.’

She would have mobilized the army or spent every moment searching for him.

The Captain’s calmness after such a crisis, was the basis for Rowen’s judgment.

Because she believed she had a plan, Rowen too could remain calm and accept her treatment.

She looked out through the old-fashioned window.

People bustled back and forth between the buildings.

Despite being injured, it wasn’t very easy to rest, not with such a scene outside. She longed to rise and help.

“Why do you not ask?”

She felt a gaze. When she turned her head sharply, the condemned’s empty pupils were upon her.

Startled, Rowen hurried to answer.

“Eh— ah, ahem! D-Do you mean… me?”

Her voice faltered and her face turned red. The condemned answered without change in her expression.

“You are the only one awake here, Rowen.”

“…Oh.”

Rowen nodded once, but very slowly.

“But… ask what?”

‘Is she asking why I wasn’t asking her anything?’

The condemned gave a flat reply.

“It is about Nike, is it not?”

“…Ah. I simply thought he was safe, since the Captain said nothing otherwise.”

The condemned tilted her head slightly and stepped closer. Her body reeked, as if she had not bathed in a long time.

“Rowen. You choose to trust me.”

“Huh? Ah…”

Rowen stared blankly, then nodded.

“That pleases me. Thank you.”

“…Of… course.”

The condemned turned away. Rowen let out a sigh and watched her go.

‘What was that feeling just now?’

It was… as though the words had slipped out against her will.

Had that answer truly been her own choice? The thought unsettled her. The condemned focused back on her work, while Rowen tried to clear her head.

As the strange fatigue of their conversation lingered, their eyes met once more as she closed the door.

Her lips curled into a thorny smile.

“Nike is safe. Thanks to you, Rowen, and your trust in me when you pierced his heart.”

“…”

“But he is not in good condition, so I am watching over him myself.”

“I-I see.”

“Please, be at ease.”

She nodded slightly and shut the door. Rowen felt as if she had been bewitched, staring blankly at the closed door.

* * *

“Nike. There is someone who worries for you. Wake up now.”

The condemned, guided by Morgana, stood silently staring at Nike lying in bed.

Her lifeless gaze remained fixed on his heart.

Nike’s body bore no wounds, clean as though untouched. He had clearly recovered from the fierce battle, yet the great scar near his heart remained.

It was a wound that could not be healed by magic. Morgana did not know what it was, nor how to uncover the truth of it.

She had tried every treatment, every dispelling spell, but gained nothing.

Having lived for more than three hundred years, she prided herself on knowing nearly everything about the world.

She had mastered mysteries and secrets and risen to the level of one who could govern providence itself.

…Yet about the boy sleeping before her, she knew nothing.

Not the scar on his chest.

Not his true nature.

Not why and how he was able to wield magic as a boy.

Not the strange abyss that had lingered around him.

Not the sudden surge of his mana.

Nike was a being unseen in history, unheard of in all the world.

Morgana gazed down at him. She placed a hand gently on his chest and closed her eyes.

She could feel it.

His mana.

It was far greater than before.

If when she had first met him his mana was the size of a child’s fist, now it was as large as four fists of a grown man.

‘...’

Somehow his power had increased.

For witches there was only one way to grow stronger.

They offered human sacrifices to the stars they served and received magical power in return.

Through that magic they preserved youth, gained strength, and pursued truth.

Magic was both the blessing of the stars and the wisdom of evil gods.

It was the end of mystery, the truth itself.

Such power did not grow naturally.

Yet, his had.

There was no trace of contact with the evil god.

A witch could always recognize when another had communed with the stars.

They could tell what star their kin served, how beloved they were by that cosmic being, and immediately rank their strength.

That was why witches did not fight one another needlessly. They knew their place and avoided offending their patrons.

But Nike carried none of the aura of a witch. He did not offer sacrifices, yet his magical power grew.

This was the most inexplicable of his secrets.

And now, his power has grown further.

If Nike had touched the stars, Morgana would have known.

This meant he had changed after encountering Sestria.

Sestria had vanished without a trace.

Nike had survived, and his mana expanded.

Tracing it to its conclusion, Morgana fell silent and began to sweat.

There was only one explanation.

“Nike… did you perhaps ‘consume’ her?”

She tilted her head as if asking the question to the boy in sleep. The condemned’s rough hand brushed back his soft hair from his brow.

Her touch was strangely gentle, as though caressing a child into slumber.

“One of the taboos decreed by the first three witches. But you…”

The condemned’s lips slowly curved. Her once expressionless face now smiled with her eyes.

Even her true body, crucified on the solar cross, split her lips in laughter.

“You are mine, Nike.”

* * *

His whole body felt hot. Something slick seemed to slither against him.

“Mud?”

The strange sensation woke Nike. He found himself in an unfamiliar place. The ceiling rose high, filled with artistic detail, and sunlight broke in through the windows.

…It was the Captain’s office.

His senses cleared at once and he sat up, but he was shocked right after.

“Snakes!?”

He nearly shouted. Countless black snakes coiled around him, winding over his body.

Snakes were cold-blooded. Yet the scales pressing against his skin were warm. They kept his body at the right temperature, circulated his blood, and sped his recovery.

There was only one person who would do something so unpleasant.

‘Captain!’

Realizing that grim woman had healed him, Nike rose with a disturbed expression.

To think he had received her help. He almost bit his tongue to end his life then and there.

But it was a pointless act. His tongue did not sever, and he had no true wish to die anyway. It was only self-loathing that made him attempt it.

“Ugh…”

When he stood, his head spun.

The wounds from the battle with the witch had already healed.

Only the scar on his heart, the one he had borne since childhood, remained.

Not even his astonishing resilience could heal it.

Whoosh, whoosh!

He leapt to his feet, bouncing and jabbing like a panther. His movements were swift and strong. His condition was perfect. Morgana’s healing magic was very impressive.  

But it was not just his body. Nike had noticed something else.

Something about him had changed.

His power was unmistakably different.

“My mana has grown?”

The energy that lay in his heart surged uncontrollably.

“Woah!”