Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

Night fell, and Hestia walked along a deserted mountain path, the cool breeze brushing past her.

The day’s lessons had already concluded, and with time to spare, she decided to visit that special “teacher.”

Though the night road was pitch-black, it posed no trouble for her. Her profession’s innate senses allowed her to deftly avoid stones and navigate the insect-filled grasslands.

Finally, she arrived at a cliffside. With a light leap, she descended, her body glowing faintly with a white light. She landed softly by a misty lake.

Taking a few steps forward, she leapt again. Ice flowers blossomed at the edge of the lake, forming a path she easily traversed toward its center.

But today, the small ice mountain in the lake was absent, indicating that her “teacher” was likely resting.

Recently, Hestia had grown accustomed to the ghostly woman’s lifestyle. She thought for a moment, then extended her hand. A small vortex formed in the water.

Since she lacked water-manipulation abilities, she relied on a general formula to control the liquid, though it wasn’t very efficient. But for now, it sufficed.

Small ice blocks formed in the water, colliding within the vortex and producing crisp, bell-like sounds.

Before long, icy blue light shone from the lake’s depths, and the ghostly woman emerged. A small ice island surfaced alongside her.

“You’ve come, Hestia,” the woman said. Her skin was as white as her snow-like dress, her intricate, ethereal gown glowing faintly under the night sky.

“Sorry to disturb your rest, Teacher,” Hestia nodded politely.

“No matter. It’s better than foolishly waiting outside,” the woman shook her head. It was only a brief slumber, one she could awaken from at any moment.

After these words, she regarded Hestia curiously.

“You seem different lately, as if you’ve undergone some training.”

“Ah, it’s etiquette training,” Hestia replied.

“I can see that. Though thousands of years have passed, some things in humanity remain unchanged,” the woman remarked.

“These things… well, they’re not entirely pointless,” she added. Although she found them trivial, she understood Hestia’s current limitations. Such training had its merits.

“Come closer,” the ghostly woman beckoned.

She took Hestia’s wrist with her slightly cool hand, guiding her into the lake once more.

The icy water enveloped her, the sound of bubbling filling her ears. White light engulfed her vision, and Hestia found herself in a completely different world.

The sky seemed ablaze, and falling flames illuminated an ancient battlefield.

Elves soared through the sky on fiery red birds, their brilliant crimson feathers glinting in the twilight. Waves of fire rained down, casting the world into an apocalyptic scene of burning ruins, wailing corpses, broken banners, and shattered swords.

Their opponents were terrifying—skeletons advancing with iron war chariots.

Giant crossbows mounted on the chariots were cranked by grotesque, mangled creatures. Bolts tore through the sky, bringing down elves and their birds in fiery arcs.

On the ground, elven knights clad in silver, engraved armor formed ranks amidst the blaring horns. Their gleaming scimitars reflected the burning sky. Silent, they ascended the hills, raising their blades high before charging down on antlered stags.

The scimitars cut like silver snow, effortlessly cleaving through the enemy lines. Flesh-and-bone creatures and skeletons fell in their wake.

The loose ranks of skeletons crumbled like dry branches beneath the knights’ silver blades. The army surged like a crescent moon across the charred land, obliterating row after row of skeletal foes.

Yet, despite their valor, the tide of battle remained unchanged. Before them stretched an endless sea of corpses, numbering in the millions.

Purple crescent banners rose above the blackened ground. Soon, the wails of specters filled the air. Ghostly figures, distorted and mournful, approached like a storm cloud.

They charged through the falling flames toward the elves on their crimson birds. One by one, bodies and feathers plummeted from the sky, adding to the inferno below.

The living clashed with blades, while the dead walked through flames. There was no surrender, no escape, no compromise. Both sides were entrenched in an unyielding sea of blood and vengeance, sacrificing countless lives for victory.

Exhausted elven knights were pulled from their stags and fell beneath rusted blades and skeletal hordes. The elves began to retreat, regrouping to regain their strength.

As one side withdrew, the sea of bones pressed on relentlessly, crossing mountains toward a distant silhouette of a giant tree.

Soon, black-robed sorcerers arrived at the battlefield. They chanted somber incantations, and the fallen elven knights rose once more.

Grasping shattered blades, they mounted steeds stitched from flesh and bone, continuing their march forward.

War, death, rebirth—this cycle repeated endlessly. The vast army of death crossed mountain ranges, advancing toward the giant tree, destroying everything in their path, friend and foe alike, until the world ended.

The scene dissolved into white light, growing hazy. The last image Hestia remembered was the burning sky and the purple crescent banners fluttering beneath it.

It was a long time before she awoke from the epic, brutal vision of war.

Leaning against the small ice mountain, she steadied herself.

“What was that scene just now?” she asked. She desperately wanted to know the era of that war, its purpose, and the identities of those involved. Why were those silver-haired elves so different from the elves of today?

“That was the Second Epoch,” the ghostly woman explained, seated on her icy throne. Resting her head on one hand, she elaborated.

“The textbooks in your era likely only gloss over it—mentioning the rise of humanity’s Mercury Empire and the elves’ gradual decline. But the ferocity of the conflict? Few care to remember.”

“That’s true,” Hestia acknowledged, though she sensed her teacher’s intention wasn’t merely to show her the horrors of war.

“Smart girl,” the woman said softly.

“Often, spoken lessons don’t resonate deeply or are met with resistance.”

“So, I won’t preach or guide you forcefully. Instead, I’ll show you history’s most impactful moments.”

“As you see more and understand more, you’ll grasp the roots of the present and the truths hidden beneath its chaos.”

“In this age, the famous witches of the Second and Third Epochs are long gone. Individual strength pales compared to the power of the collective. If you aspire to become a Songstress, you’ll inevitably face choices.”

“What do you wish to bring to the people? What do you hope to achieve?”

“Song without purpose or emotion is mere noise. In time, you’ll have to choose a path—one for yourself and for those you lead.”

“You once asked why I, as powerful as I am, remain in seclusion. It’s because my era has ended. Though I still live, it’s no longer my place to meddle in the present world.”

“A new generation replaces the old. Clinging on only breeds resentment,” the ghostly woman’s eyes gleamed with nostalgia, as though she were repeating a dear friend’s words.

My choice… Hestia sighed.

Truthfully, while she was dissatisfied with the Federation and society, the thought of changing it felt overly ambitious. At least, not until she matured and gained a deeper understanding of the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Just like I don’t know what I’ll eat tomorrow or what fish I’ll catch. Everyone seems to have high expectations of me, but right now, I’m not ready to speak recklessly.”

Hestia shook her head. Though she was beginning to recognize her immense talent, it felt overwhelming for a 16-year-old to bear such weight.

Perhaps she would stumble, make mistakes, and take detours before finding the right path.

She wasn’t a confident child. Her past had taught her to act carefully and earnestly.

Seeing her hesitation, the ghostly woman smiled gently.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait for you patiently. And if you accidentally die one day, I can always revive you as a ghost to keep going.”

“Ah, that sounds too tragic!” Hestia clutched her head.