CHAPTER 2 Descendant of the Wicked Witch Cyril Ashley, student council vice president of Serendia Academy, was perplexed. Two young men stood before him. One had a gorgeous face, framed by crimson curls, but wore an outfit suited to field work. This was the “passing gardener,” Raul Roseburg, the fifth Witch of Thorns. The other, Ray Albright, the third Abyss Shaman and self-professed “passing poet,” had unusual purple hair and wore a plain robe. Both were members of the Seven Sages—the greatest mages in Ridill and advisors to the king himself. One of those great and powerful Sages, Raul, took a turnip and an apple out of his messenger bag. His voice was cheerful. “I grew these in our field! Let’s all eat together!” He handed them to Ray, who stood beside him. Ray averted his eyes from the items, looking like he wanted to die. “I don’t need your food… I can’t comprehend how you have the stomach to eat in a situation like this…” “You’re such a light eater. How about the rest of you?” Raul looked at Cyril and Glenn. Cyril let his gaze drift, but before grabbing a turnip and chomping down, Glenn replied, “Don’t mind if I do!” The berries the spirits had gathered for breakfast probably hadn’t been enough for him. After putting away the whole thing in the blink of an eye, he took an apple, too. Raul smiled. “I like the way you eat!” “I was so hungry I could’ve eaten a horse, so thanks! Anyway…” Glenn swallowed a bite of apple and gave Raul a close look from head to toe. “The Witch of Thorns is actually a man, huh? Is the title more like, um…a stage name?” “Sure is. I’d prefer to call myself the Thorn Mage, but the older ladies in my family don’t like that. They still have a lot of respect for the original.” “Sounds like a pain,” Glenn replied casually before going back to munching on his apple. Cyril struggled to comprehend how the boy could eat anything right now. One day ago, Cyril and his underclassman Glenn Dudley were kidnapped by a nameless ice spirit with the appearance of a young boy and a wolflike earth spirit named Sezhdio. According to them, a man with a flute was controlling all the spirits in the forest. Cyril had promised to talk to the man and get him to release the spirits, and they had headed out to do just that. Along the way, they’d encountered Relva, a fire spirit under the flutist’s control. The spirit had been moments away from incinerating them when the two Sages arrived and rescued them. And now one of those great and mighty Sages was trying to get them to eat turnips and apples. Cyril just didn’t understand. “Here, you should have an apple, too!” Raul said to the nervous, stiff Cyril. “Oh, unless you like them better roasted?” Cyril stifled his confusion and remained polite. “I’m quite fine, thank you. More importantly, Lord Witch of Thorns, what might a Sage like yourself be doing in these woods?” “Hey, just call me Raul. No need for formality. I’m just a passing gardener at the moment!” Raul grinned cheerfully. Ray scowled. “I don’t care about men saying my name… If it was a girl, though…” “Yeah, Ray’s pretty shy!” Cyril just barely stopped himself from shouting Answer my question already! His fists trembled. Glenn whispered into his ear. “Vice Pres, these two are… How should I put this…?” Cyril guessed his underclassman had his own reservations about the two Sages. He nodded, prompting the boy to continue. With a deadly serious face, Glenn exclaimed, “They’re such good people!” “……” “My master would have just left us here and told us to get home by ourselves.” Glenn’s master was another one of the Seven Sages—Louis Miller, the Barrier Mage. Cyril’s idealistic image of the Sages was beginning to crumble. Behind him, the boyish ice spirit and the wolflike earth spirit watched with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. In general, the spirits of the forest didn’t take kindly to humans—a sentiment Sezhdio, in particular, shared. He was already low to the ground, ready to spring on the newcomers at a moment’s notice. Their earlier battle with Relva had left a wound on Sezhdio’s right foreleg. Spirits were entities of pure mana, and they didn’t bleed. Instead, particles of light spilled from his ashen fur—mana leaking out from his body. “Sezhdio, your leg…,” said Cyril gently. “If I wrap it with my handkerchief, will it stanch the mana loss?” Sezhdio snorted. “Don’t bother. It’ll stop soon.” Raul and Ray cautiously looked over at the strange wolf. “The boy and the wolf there—are they spirits?” asked Raul. “I heard all the spirits had turned hostile…,” muttered Ray. Now Cyril was certain of it. These two knew what was happening here, and they’d come to fix it. Ray’s pink eyes glinted as he stared at the ice spirit and Sezhdio. “Are they our enemies, too?” Sezhdio growled. Knowing it was his job to explain things, Cyril frantically straightened up. “No—these two are different. They asked Glenn Dudley and me for help. Now we’re moving as a group.” He was implicitly asking the Sages not to attack. For some reason, Raul lowered his eyebrows as he gazed at the boyish spirit. “You’re an ice spirit, right?” he asked. “What should I call you?” “I’ve forgotten my name. You may simply call me Ice Spirit.” Raul frowned at this. He seemed troubled. Next to him, Ray looked at Cyril searchingly. “How much are the two of you aware of?” “Only that there is a man in this forest with a flute that can control spirits,” said Cyril. It was the truth. They really didn’t know anything else. Ray and Raul exchanged glances. Raul, still concerned, scratched at his crimson curls. “Ah. Well, actually, we’re here to find people like you, who got caught up in this, and get you to safety. Let’s head out of the forest together. Our friends will handle the man with the flute.” Cyril knew it was best to follow Raul’s instructions. He was one of the Seven Sages, after all. But… He stole a glance at the nameless ice spirit and Sezhdio. He’d promised these two his help in persuading the flutist. He didn’t want to renege on his promise. “Lord Witch of Thorns,” he said. “Like I said, you can just call me by my name!” “Lord Roseburg.” “I meant my first name…” “Would you allow me to help you persuade the flutist? I promised these spirits my assistance.” He looked the Sage straight in the eye. Raul and Ray exchanged glances again. They were clearly concerned. It seemed neither of them was good at lying or keeping secrets. “Oh, um… When you say persuade, well… Hmm…” Raul hesitated. Ray whispered to him. “What now? We know persuasion won’t be enough.” “No, it won’t. And with Louis and Bradford in the mix…” The two Sages spoke quietly among themselves. Cyril caught some unsettling phrases, like “Those two aren’t likely to resolve things peacefully…” and “He said we were going to hang him…” Was it just his imagination? Raul turned back to Cyril with a goofy smile. “First, let’s get out of here, all right? Ray and I aren’t so great at fighting.” “…You aren’t?” “Nope. The most I can do is imbue plants with mana.” Not all mages excelled at combat. Some were better suited to research, while others specialized in a single skill, such as creating barriers or illusions. That might be true of Lord Albright, since he’s a shaman, thought Cyril. But why would a Roseburg be a poor fighter? The Roseburgs are a prestigious family of mages… Suddenly, the ice spirit’s head shot up, and he looked around. Sezhdio reacted, too, growling and lowering his stance. Ka-chak. Ka-chak. Cyril heard the clanging of metal on metal and footsteps crunching over dry leaves. Three figures were approaching them from deeper in the forest, all dressed in full suits of armor. Though they hadn’t been able to speak with Relva while she was under the flutist’s control, maybe these armor-clad men would be different. They’re probably messengers dispatched by the flutist, thought Cyril. “Are you here on behalf of the flutist? I am Cyril Ashley. I’d like to speak with your master…” But the figures didn’t stop when he greeted them. The suits of armor were all the same size and design, but the decorations on the one in the middle were slightly different. Many of its pieces were framed with gold paint. That one was probably the leader. When they were only a few steps away, the apparent leader reached an armored hand for Cyril. But before he could touch him, Sezhdio lunged forward and tackled the suit of armor. “Wait!” yelled Cyril, his face turning red. “We should talk this—” “Fool! Nothing will come of talking to these things!” Sezhdio roared angrily before swinging his sharp claws between the helmet and the rest of the armor. His claws sheared through the material, sending the helmet toppling to the ground. No blood spilled from inside, however. Instead, bundles of metal cords spilled out and hung loosely from where the head should have been. …They’re not human? Then what are they? Cyril wondered in shock. The other two suits of armor approached. Raul immediately chanted a spell and hurled some small seeds at the ground. In mere moments, they had sprouted. They quickly grew into tough vines, which then coiled up and around all three of the suits of armor. “These things aren’t human! Um. That probably makes them magical items, right?” They must be very strange if even a Sage like Raul was using vague terms like probably. Cyril, for one, had never heard of nor seen such a thing before. Raul’s rose vines squeezed the flailing suits of armor, making them look like misshapen green dumplings. Soon, however, they began to visibly slacken. Raul’s eyes widened. “What in the world? Are they…absorbing my mana?” Just then, an arm slithered out of a gap in the loosening vines. The suits of armor were packed with metal wires. The arm, still connected to those wires, detached from the suit’s shoulder, then shot out with the speed of a bullet, piercing the young ice spirit’s gut. “Ice Spirit!” “No! Ice Spirit!” As Cyril and Glenn shouted, the hand that had plunged through the ice spirit slithered back toward its main body, dragging the spirit with it. With no time to chant, Cyril and Glenn grabbed hold of the boyish spirit. Everything else had left their minds—they couldn’t let the arm take him. They managed to hold him fast for a moment, and Sezhdio used that chance to attack the wires linking the armor to its arm with his sharp claws. He couldn’t slice through them, but the arm impaling the spirit slid out from his gut and fell to the ground. Cyril lifted the limp spirit’s head. “Hey! Pull yourself together! Are you conscious?!” He shuddered at how light the spirit was. Too light. A terrible premonition settled over him. Nervously, he turned up the boy’s mantle. He and Glenn gasped. “What the heck…?” Glenn groaned. Cyril couldn’t blame him. Beneath the boy’s clothes—a simple rag with a hole for the head—they could see a gaping hole in his torso. Glittering mana spilled from the hole without a sound. …What’s more, he had no arms. They’d probably been missing since before Cyril and Glenn had met him. While Cyril and Glenn were preoccupied with shock at the ice spirit’s injuries, Raul continued to fight the suits of armor. He chanted, then touched his fingertips to the ground. “Want some of this?” Thorny shrubs burst up at the suits’ feet, skewering them straight through to the crowns of their heads. The way their branches stretched out from the armors’ gaps made them look like prey impaled by a shrike. But one of the three—the one with gold decorations—began to use its arm, which it could extend and retract at will, to snap the thorny branches. First, it took care of its own, then it helped its fellows, freeing them. Clearly, that gold-plated suit of armor was faster and stronger than the others. Raul grimaced. “The one with the gold ornamentation… I think it can draw mana from whatever it touches. I don’t think the others can.” Just as he said, only the shrubs and branches touched by the golden one had visibly weakened. Ray groaned. He had been hiding behind a large tree for most of the confrontation. His expression was full of despair. “It can draw out mana? That’s so unfair… How’s a mage or a spirit supposed to beat it…?” Ray was right. Cyril’s magical broach was capable of absorbing excess mana, but that was nothing compared to this golden suit of armor. It was leeching out the mana from Raul’s thorns and the impaled ice spirit, then using that to power itself. If Cyril or Glenn flung attack spells at it, it would probably absorb a good portion of those, too. In Cyril’s arms, the ice spirit squeezed out a whisper. “Run…away…” His right shoulder glowed faintly blue, and a branch of ice protruded from it. Cyril hadn’t noticed it until now, but the spirit must have been using that icy branch in place of arms when it gathered leaves or mounted Sezhdio. The branch lunged straight past Cyril’s face, piercing someone hiding behind a tree. Glowing mana sprayed out instead of blood as Relva, a fire spirit in the form of a young woman, glared at them with sharp eyes. Apparently, she’d been targeting them from the shadows. Despite the ice branch impaling her chest, Relva impassively whipped up a firestorm around them. Her red hair and thin silk dress fluttered along with the flames. The ice branch melted instantly. This is bad! To Cyril’s left were the three moving suits of armor, one of which could absorb mana, and to his right was the fire spirit Relva. With Ice Spirit grievously wounded and Sezhdio’s foreleg injured, things were getting desperate for Cyril and the others. A thin, empty smile rose to Ray’s lips as he stayed hidden behind a tree. “My curses can’t affect spirits… It’s all over, isn’t it…?” “No! It ain’t over yet!” Glenn quickly chanted a spell and loosed a fireball at Relva, and Cyril swiftly started a quick-chant of his own. Relva’s coat of flames spread out like a curtain, hiding the beautiful woman from sight and blocking Glenn’s fireball. “Freeze!” Finished with his chant, Cyril touched his fingertips to the ground. Ivy made of ice sprouted from that spot, then sprang straight for the fire spirit. The ice vines were meant to freeze her legs—the moment they hit the spirit’s toes, they would expand. But before they could reach their target, the spirit leaped with inhuman grace to a nearby tree branch. Cyril’s ice vines missed their target and froze another tree instead. Raul added in his own incantation, sending rose vines stretching toward Relva. She cut them down with a sword made of flames. She’s just too strong, Cyril thought with a sting of regret. Just then, several more figures appeared behind Relva. For a moment, Cyril thought help had arrived. But his hopes were dashed in an instant. There were five figures headed toward them, all suits of armor. Their arms smoothly extended from their shoulders, winding and undulating uncannily. Now they were up against Relva, a high fire spirit, and eight moving suits of armor—one of whom had the ability to absorb mana. It looked like the end of the line. “Ray?” said Raul, warding the enemies off with more thorny briars. “Could I ask you for a curse?” “My curses have no effect on spirits…” “Not them. I want you to curse me.” Cyril and Glenn were dumbfounded. What was he saying at a time like this? While everyone stared at him in bafflement, Raul continued, as casual as if he were ordering food at his favorite cafeteria. “Give me one that’ll put me to sleep after ten minutes or something like that!” Raul’s intent was incomprehensible to Cyril. Ray, however, seemed to realize what was happening. “I have one,” he murmured. “It will put you to sleep and give you nightmares…” “Hold the nightmares, please!” “Sorry. I’m afraid curses are meant to inflict suffering… Ten minutes, right?” “Yep. Any longer than that, and we might be in trouble.” “All right.” Ray nodded and chanted a curse incantation under his breath. These were superficially similar to the ones used in magecraft but wholly different under the surface. In tandem with his chant, a shamanic seal on his right hand lifted up into the air, then extended like a plant vine and coiled around Raul’s neck. The purple seal made a full rotation, then its glow disappeared, as if it was fitting itself to the other man’s skin. Raul stroked his now curse-engraved neck and turned back to face Relva. “I’ll handle this. The rest of you follow Ray and run away.” “Lord Roseburg, didn’t that armor absorb the mana from your last attack?” asked Cyril, concerned. Raul broke into a full smile. “Aww, are you worried about me? You’re such a good guy!” He was truly smiling. It was such a cheerful and bright expression, it seemed completely out of place. Cyril wasn’t sure how to respond. “He’s a monster,” mumbled Ray. “He has a higher mana capacity than almost anyone else in the kingdom… Worrying about him is a waste of time…” Indeed, Raul didn’t seem tired at all, despite having the mana sucked out of him. In fact, Ray—who hadn’t done anything—looked much more worn out. “VP…?” Glenn looked at Cyril with concern. He wasn’t sure whether to stay or run, and neither was Cyril. Cyril bit his lip. Don’t get your priorities mixed up… He wasn’t as strong as a Sage. Above all, they had two weakened spirits to take care of. Sezhdio’s foreleg was wounded, and Ice Spirit lay unmoving and limp, his eyes closed. The first thing he needed to do was flee and get the spirits somewhere safe. “We’re getting out of here, Dudley. Help Sezhdio run. I’ll carry Ice Spirit.” “Got it, boss! Can you still run, Mister Wolf?” “I can.” Sezhdio took off, dragging his foreleg, and Glenn ran alongside him. Ray followed behind them, grumbling, “Help me, not the spirits…” Cyril got a firm grip on Ice Spirit, then bowed to Raul. “Please be safe, Lord Roseburg.” “Sure thing! Once this is over, we can continue our picnic!” Raul turned his head and waved vigorously. Cyril didn’t recall starting a picnic, but he swallowed the retort and launched into a run, carrying Ice Spirit in his arms. …Be safe, huh? Raul let out a carefree chuckle. He smiled, filled with joy. He’d been raised with love and care as the Roseburg heir. And yet, nobody had ever prayed for his safety before. Almost nobody bothered worrying about the Witch of Thorns. The suits of armor ripped through the rose vines binding them as Relva’s flames burned away the thorny shrubs. The gold armor was showing renewed strength after absorbing the vines’ mana. Sometimes you could destroy an enemy like that by purposely overstuffing it with mana, but that took time. And he had the fire spirit and the other suits of armor to contend with right now. I wonder if I can be friends with those two. I hope so. And if we’re going to be friends, then… His green eyes glinted darkly beneath his crimson curls. …I’d better not scare them, huh? Raul looked down and pushed up his bangs with his left hand. Beneath his palm, his shapely lips curled up into a smile—not the joyful grin from before, but something different. This was the smile of a savage witch who had found her prey. “Rot away, scrap metal. Rot away, flame spirit. None of you are worthy fertilizer.” The voice of the man who had smiled so cheerfully now held a bone-chilling charm as it began to sing out an incantation. This was a spell that no longer existed, one passed down only from Roseburg to Roseburg. “Human flesh, spirit mana—all will be equal fodder for my roses.” Rose seeds scattered across the ground, then instantly sprouted and swelled. If that was all, this spell would be no different from the one Raul had been using up until now. But the power and scope of this version were far greater. The rose vines expanded like a fortress in front of him, swallowing the suits of armor whole. Raul Roseburg, the fifth Witch of Thorns, was a genius mage with the greatest mana capacity in the kingdom, but his temperament made him a poor combatant. And so, his great-grandmother, the third Witch of Thorns, had granted him a means to unlock his full potential in times of emergency—a means to conduct himself as a coldhearted, ruthless witch. “Now trample. Now overrun.” The witch lifted the hand she’d scattered the seeds with. Her manly fingertips, covered by gloves meant for farm work, lovingly stroked the rose vines. To her charming face rose the beguiling grin of a sadist. It was the smile of Rebecca Roseburg, the first Witch of Thorns, and the Roseburgs’ revered ancestor. “The Rose Fortress devours until nothing remains.” The rose vines slithered like snakes, constricting the suits of armor and crushing them flat. Each vine was packed with an unbelievable amount of mana. The golden armor attempted to draw out their power, but the vines sucked the armor dry instead. The Rose Fortress could absorb mana, too. When it and the golden armor competed, the more powerful of the two naturally prevailed. The suit of armor only held out for a few seconds before the roses devoured its mana and crushed it. The Rose Fortress was a type of grand magecraft used by the first Witch of Thorns when a foreign nation invaded Ridill in the past. The spell had squeezed the blood and mana from thousands of soldiers. Now people referred to it fearfully as the “Man-eating Rose Fortress.” But humans weren’t the roses’ only fodder. They could devour the mana from magical items and spirits as well. They propagated until they’d surrounded Relva as well. Relva spread her flames about her like a cloak, then tried to slice through the vines using her fiery sword. But the weapon merely charred the surface. It could not burn the vines away. Like a den of countless snakes, the vines coiled around her and squeezed with so much force it would have broken all the bones in a human’s body. Relva might have been able to flee if the roses were merely binding her. But the Rose Fortress ate the mana of its prey, too. As the vines drew in her power, buds began to pop up all over them, blooming into huge flowers. The roses were a gorgeous fiery crimson, a gradient of yellows, oranges, and reds. When they had finally extinguished Relva’s flames along with her life, the Witch of Thorns brought a rose to her lips and smiled.
Chapter 155
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