“My assistant is a witch,” Auroch gloated, even as they strained against each other.
“……A w-witch?”
He was stunned. A witch? Did she really say that?
“Oh, the look on your face. It’s not just the Drakenias who have witches in their clutches.”
She’s bluffing. Why would the Headtaker Corps have witches in their ranks? They captured a witch outside the precinct?
“Such a shame about the Saint. That magic sword goes through mana like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s by far the most lethal. With a witch wielding it, your Saint can’t just wait for her to run out of mana. I do wish your partner the best of luck. She’ll need it.”
As this distracted him, Auroch pushed hard.
_____My head’s splitting open.
Rogue bent his knees as much as he could, twisting his left shoulder into a full-body turn. This left a shallow groove all the way down the side of his head, and the rapier tip scraped the floor with a shrill sound.
“And I was so close to putting you out of your misery.”
He righted himself, putting his hands on the ground and pushing himself so he leaped to his feet. Auroch was not coming after him. She doesn’t think she has to?
Gasping for breath, Rogue asked, “You despise witches but employ one?”
“That I do. One must take advantage of the tools at one’s disposal. Here, I have a witch to call my own—best to make effective use of her. It was actually my suggestion to allow Giselle out of her cell. I mean, I’ve got a magic sword melded with the mental interference spell Synchro. I thought it was worth doing an experiment.”
She whipped her rapier to the side, sending drops of blood flying.
“I imprinted her as follows—she’s no witch. She’s not a witch; she’s human. She’s done nothing wrong; she’s the good guy. Bluntly speaking, I brainwashed her. For a far longer time than any of those bombs. I was very thorough. I didn’t mind if it ended in failure. The only downside would be the death of a witch. But the experiment succeeded. Now I have a witch who kills witches and can slaughter far more of them than I could ever manage.”
“……Vile.”
“One must be vile to stand a chance against a witch, Detective Rogue. Or do you actually believe it’s possible without sullying your hands?”
Auroch shifted her weight, holding the rapier in front of her.
“The ends justify the means. Why would I not do whatever it takes? Even if people must die for it, the lives of complete strangers are worthless to me. Getting turned into bombs contributed far more to the world. I cannot fathom criticizing that.”
The air grew tense.
_____Here she comes.
The Headtaker’s blade became a blur.
Dust clouds bloomed.
A sword larger than she was tall slammed down—but the Saint was no longer there. A black blur sped out of the dust.
Catherine, the Saint.
Her nun’s habit sullied, she moved fast.
“Stop this! We’re both witches! We have no need to—”
She received no reply. The knight’s next swing threatened to cleave her in two. By now, Catherine knew it could slice through her barriers, so she was forced to flee. Each Floating-assisted step covered a dozen meters.
But despite her retreat, the knight remained immobile at the center of the crater. Catherine frowned.
She could sense no thoughts from her. Even with her face exposed, the knight remained impassive. Yet when Catherine took a second step, she burst into action.
She flipped her grip on the hilt.
Her legs spread wide, she held her sword to the side, at ear height—
—and she threw it.
“…Wha—?”
The sword moved faster than Catherine’s spell. Her eyes went wide, and she thrust both hands out before her, making barriers—but they were far too thin. They shattered as the sword struck them. The blade reached Catherine’s white-gloved hands…with a wave of heat.
“Aughhhh!”
The Saint was sent flying, knocked away. She hurtled toward the side of the room and was slammed against the wall.
Her gloves crumbled away. There was a deep gash on her palms.
The pain made her go fetal, but she kept one hand out in front, aimed at the knight. She shot projectiles of light, fire, and wind—but none of them even scratched her. The knight had leaped over them. Tracing a gentle arc and scraping her head on the ceiling, she landed right in front of Catherine.
Not a flicker of emotion remained on her face.
_____Kill the witches.
_____Right these wrongs.
_____Punish all evil.
Those “thoughts” had wormed their way into the knight with astonishing ease.
Giselle, the Einherjar.
Born into a knight’s family, she’d become a witch—but had always wanted to be “good.” She’d longed to thwart villainy and save those suffering under its thumb. However, her heart was too pure for the task at hand.
The nobles whom her house served took advantage of her.
They hid the fact that she was a witch. She herself never acted like anything but a true knight and was granted status in accordance.
But the missions she was given were all assassinations.
They’d feed her a line about a lord exploiting the serfs. She’d buy it hook, line, and sinker and take down any thorn in the noble’s sides.
She heard rumors about an assassin but didn’t care. No protections could stand against a witch like her. The only problems came when her targets had children. Even she knew what would happen to children when their parents died—but she could not stop now. She had already killed too many.
By the time she worked out who her masters really were, this had worn her down.
She attacked their manor, then left, as if fleeing all the crimes she’d committed. Decades passed, but it felt like the shadows of her victims were always on her heels. She hid in the forest, trembling and alone—and even after the collar went on, that did not change.
“You did nothing wrong,” the woman told her. “All blame lies with those who gave the orders. Raise your head and look at me.”
The woman wore black. She had a faint smile on her lips, her hand outstretched.
She scrambled across her darkened cell, grasping at that hand. Desperate for salvation. To the girl, this woman was the light. The light that would save her.
The woman offered a way to end the suffering.
“You mustn’t think. Become a person without any thoughts at all.”
She obeyed.
And it worked. In no time, the girl’s suffering ended. There was only one downside—she could no longer act on her own. She let herself think just a bit and asked the woman what to do.
“I’ll do the thinking for you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Cast all thoughts aside.”
She’d saved the girl.
She would never say anything wrong.
The woman pointed a sword at her, and thoughts flowed in. In them, the girl was human. Not any kind of witch—but a righteous knight.
This was what she’d wanted.
But was that really true? Squishing that dissonant note like a pimple, the girl let Synchro take hold.
She was sure she’d made the right choice.
_____Kill.
_____Kill.
_____Kill her now.
Do what the voice said, and she need not think.
Need not fear her sins.
The girl swung her hand, slicing down the construct. This construct had infinite mana. A human could never win, but the girl could kill it. The girl had no hesitation. She could even turn her sword on children.
She looked at the Saint.
Another witch.
Crush her head with one fist—a blow that wouldn’t allow resurrection.
So she need not think.
“I’m sorry…”
“…I adore hopeless people like you.”
The Saint caught the knight’s fist with one hand, staggering to her feet. She was far smaller than the knight, and yet she loomed large.
“So I let this drag on a while.”
The knight tried to shake her off but could not budge. She had no idea this simply meant her foe was the better witch. The thoughts implanted in her head ordered her to resist—
“But I really don’t have time to be dealing with you…
“…so again—sorry.”
There was a snap.
The knight was assailed by compressed air. A spell unleashed from the palm on the knight’s chest. The Saint was almost as good with air and wind as she was with fire.
The knight did not even scream. Her mind slipped away, and she toppled toward Catherine. That was the end of the witch who killed witches.
A rapier was bound for his eyeball, then was batted aside by the back of his hand. There was no time to waste on the numbing pain. Auroch unleashed thrust after thrust, but Rogue fended them all off.
His throat was parched.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
The nigh endless flurry of thrusts was accompanied by Auroch’s voice.
“You suffer so. Perhaps you deserve some rest.”
The muscles in his shoulder jumped. He felt his face twist. He took a swing, but Auroch bent backward, avoiding it. Her lips never stopped flapping, but neither did she let her guard down.
“Don’t worry, once you’re dead, I’ll burn you alongside that benevolent ‘Saint.’”
_____Ha.
Forgetting his pain and fatigue, he let out a laugh.
Benevolent?
That really hit his funny bone. This lady calls herself a witch hunter, and she doesn’t even know what the Saint is about? Like I once did, she only sees what’s on the surface? That proved she wasn’t all that.