The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital - The White Witch and the Progenitor

The northern sky was weeping. Atop the twenty-meter walls encircling the royal capital of Artemis, Shiera felt the anomaly while the night wind combed through her silver-white hair. A contradictory sensation—as though the depths of her lungs were freezing solid, yet the surface of her skin alone was being slowly seared. The magical energy suffusing her entire body was screaming a warning. Shiera was the White Witch. The sole witch who had chosen to stand on humanity's side, the guardian of the royal capital Artemis. Upon her shoulders rested the weight of a guardian covenant that had endured since the Witch War four hundred years ago. Witches could not be killed by humans or other races. Only a fellow witch could kill a witch. That was precisely why the covenant existed. Humans were protected by witches, and witches received a place to belong and compensation from humans. An annual salary of eight hundred gold coins. A capital population of one hundred twenty thousand. All of it rested on her slender shoulders. Her hand had unconsciously tightened around the holy sword Luminous, hanging at her hip. The blade imbued with light-attribute magic, passed down through generations of White Witches. Seven White Witches before her had protected the capital with this sword. Its weight was familiar in her palm now, worn into the hilt by the handprints of her predecessors. "...It's coming." Her voice dissolved into the silence of the night. Her gray eyes fixed sharply on the northern direction. The Mistwood—a domain of magic where fog perpetually hung and ancient trees a thousand years old crowded together. The Tower of the Silver Moon—the headquarters of the witches' loose network, a place where humans dared not tread—slept within. And from deep within that forest, something was approaching. Unfathomable. Utterly unfathomable. Shiera was a witch who had lived over three hundred years. She was accustomed to the presence of her kin. But this was different. The roughly forty witches who gathered at the Tower of the Silver Moon—this presence resembled none of them. Something deeper, older, quieter. As though the night itself had gained a will and was walking toward her. She drew one deep breath atop the wall. Cold air filled her lungs. Her heartbeat felt strangely slow. (I follow the covenant. Any witch who approaches the capital will be eliminated.) Her duty was simple. To face alone any external threat that endangered the capital. That was the role of the White Witch. Even if the opponent was a fellow witch. No—precisely because it was a fellow witch, she had to be the one to do it. Humans could not kill witches. Only a witch could kill a witch. She leaped from the wall. Gravity pulled her down, and an instant before impact she released her magic. The force scattered as wind around her, and she landed silently on the stone paving. Her long silver hair rippled once in the moonlight. She passed through the northern gate of the capital. The knight guards snapped to attention the moment they saw her. Shiera acknowledged them with the barest nod, not breaking stride. Her expression was hard, and her gray eyes held a mixture of fighting spirit and tension. Out of the capital, heading north. She raced along the road toward the Mistwood like the wind itself. A witch's physical abilities far surpassed those of humans. With each stride the landscape streamed past, the night grassland disappearing behind her. Before long, the entrance to the forest came into view. The fog was thick—a white, turbid air that blocked even the moonlight. And from within it, that presence drew closer. Shiera stopped. She drew Luminous. The blade emitted a faint glow, pushing back the surrounding mist just slightly. The light-attribute magic traced a white outline against the darkness of night. "—That's far enough." Her voice echoed through the fog. A moment of silence. The wind passed between the trees with a faint moan. Then, from deep within the mist, footsteps. They were impossibly light footsteps. As though enjoying a stroll—innocent, carefree, unhurried. The soft patter of feet on the ground drew closer, bit by bit. And then, from within the fog, a girl appeared. Brown hair that fell to her shoulders, the ends curling loosely. Large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. She stood about four foot ten. A delicate, small-framed girl with the kind of ordinary face you might see anywhere. Coarse traveling clothes—a brown tunic conspicuous with patches, and worn leather short boots. But a chill ran down Shiera's spine. Only where the girl stood, time had stopped. The wind did not blow. The fog did not move. Sound had vanished. An uncanny stillness, as though the world had been wrapped in silence around her. The girl looked at Shiera. Then she tilted her head. "Oh my." Just that single utterance. Every muscle in Shiera's body screamed. Her instincts as a witch cried out. Run. Run. Run. But she did not run. "I am Shiera, the White Witch. Guardian of the royal capital Artemis. I ask you—what business do you have in the capital?" Her voice did not tremble. She was calm, surprisingly even to herself. The girl tilted her head again. Her brown hair swayed softly. "A walk." "...A walk?" "Yes. A walk. It's been a while since I've been to this area, so I felt like taking a stroll." The girl's voice was innocent, light—like someone picking flowers in a spring sunbeam. But Shiera knew. She knew what this girl truly was. The witch blood flowing in her veins was screaming. This girl was no kin. She was something higher, something more fundamental—the beginning of what it meant to be a witch. "You are... Theresia." The instant she spoke that name, Shiera's throat burned as though on fire. A forbidden name. The name of the progenitor. The creator of all witches, whose very mention inspired awe. The girl—Theresia—smiled brightly. "Oh, you know me? How lovely. The children these days never recognize my face anymore." That smile was endlessly innocent, endlessly pure—and precisely for that reason, terrifying. "...I won't let you reach the capital. I'll stop you here." Shiera raised Luminous. The blade of light responded to her will, shining all the more brilliantly. "Ehh, why? I'm just walking. I won't break anything, and I won't kill anyone." "Your very existence is a threat to the capital. The Progenitor approaching the royal capital—that alone is enough to shatter the kingdom's equilibrium." "Hmm." Theresia regarded Shiera with interest. Her brown eyes observed her from head to toe, as though licking her. "You're interesting. You're afraid of me, and yet you're trying to kill me. That contradiction—it's very interesting." "Silence." Shiera kicked off the ground. In an instant she closed the distance to Theresia. Luminous traced a tail of light as it split the air. A full-force slash. A single decisive strike imbued with the pride of the White Witch. But. The blade was stopped by a black shadow that extended from behind Theresia. "—Please cease." A low, quiet voice. Before Shiera stood a man. A human man with short-cropped black hair. He stood about five foot ten. His jet-black eyes were deep, as though swallowing light, and he carried an air of something not quite human. Clad in black garments, he had deployed a black barrier that had caught Shiera's slash head-on. "You are..." "I am Lorde, familiar to Lady Theresia. Lady White Witch, I ask that you sheathe your sword. Lady Theresia merely wishes to take a stroll." His voice was polite, calm—smooth as fine silk. But his eyes held not a trace of emotion. The cold, detached eyes of a handler. "Move." Shiera swung Luminous through. Lorde's barrier screeched, scattering sparks. "I must decline. I cannot overlook anyone who would do harm to Lady Theresia." Lorde maintained the barrier with one hand and gave a light flick of the other. His shadow rippled, and from it poured countless black ravens. They swirled around Shiera, attacking with sharp beaks. "Insolent!" Shiera flashed Luminous. The blade of light swept the black ravens away. But they scattered like mist and immediately reformed. Lorde's familiar magic. High-order summoning—calling and controlling familiars from shadow. And their number kept growing. "Persistent." She released her magic. Her silver-white hair stood on end, and her gray eyes shone white. The blade of Luminous emitted a blinding light, blowing away the surrounding fog. "Hah!" A full-power strike. A torrent of light slammed into Lorde's barrier. The barrier cracked. "...Oh?" Lorde's brow moved faintly. For the first time, something like emotion surfaced on his face. It was surprise. "Considerable power. The name of the White Witch is not merely for show, it seems." "I'm just getting started!" Shiera poured in more magic. The light carved into Lorde's barrier with a roaring sound. But then— "Lorde, that's enough." Theresia's voice rang out quietly. "Stand down." "...Understood." Lorde obediently dissolved the barrier and stepped back behind Theresia. Shiera, seizing the opening, slashed at Theresia. "Tah!" Luminous came down from above Theresia's head. But the blade could not even touch Theresia's skin. Shiera's hand stopped. No—more precisely, it was stopped. By something invisible, her movement was completely sealed. "What—!" "I told you, didn't I?" Theresia looked up at Shiera with that innocent smile. "No witch I have created can harm me." The words were spoken so lightly, so matter-of-factly. "The Progenitor's blessing. The first gift I gave to all of you. You cannot wound me. You cannot kill me. That is the law of this world." Strength drained from Shiera's entire body. (...I knew.) She had known. Theresia, the Progenitor of witches. Her existence was passed down among witches as half-legend. The witches she had created could not harm her. That was an absolute law for all witches. But now, faced with that law in the flesh, Shiera's heart felt crushed by a despair beyond words. "...Even so." Shiera gritted her teeth. Blood dripped from the corner of her lip. "Even so, I will not sheathe my sword." She poured strength into her entire body, as though resisting the invisible force. Her muscles screamed, her bones creaked. Yet she did not release her grip on Luminous. "Protecting the capital is my duty. Even if I cannot reach you. Even if this sword cannot kill you. I will keep fighting." Shiera's gray eyes stared straight at Theresia. In them were despair, resignation, and a light of fierce will that would not be extinguished despite it all. Theresia gazed at those eyes. The innocent smile vanished. Emotion drained from her expression. Her brown eyes peered deep, deep into the depths of Shiera's soul. "...You really are interesting." Her voice was different from the innocent tone of moments before. Somewhere admiring, curious. "Pointing your sword even knowing you cannot reach. Fighting on even knowing it's futile. That foolishness is so very human, and so very beautiful." Theresia gave a soft laugh. It was not the innocent smile from before, but something bewitching, something cruel—the smile of the Progenitor. "I like it. I want to watch you a little longer." Theresia took a step toward Shiera. "So I will continue my walk. If you wish to stop me, then try. I will merely walk. I will do nothing. But you cannot stop me. I will walk, enjoying that contradiction." Theresia passed by Shiera's side. "Lorde, let's go." "Understood." Lorde bowed once to Shiera, then followed after Theresia. Shiera stood frozen in place. The hand gripping Luminous was stained with blood, her white fingers trembling faintly. "...Wait." Her voice was hoarse. But Theresia did not turn around. "I said wait!" Shiera kicked off the ground again. She raised Luminous and slashed at Theresia's back with all her strength. But once

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Name: The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital
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