The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital
A continent ruled by swords and magic. The human royal capital, Artemis, is protected from external threats by a guardian contract with witches. Witches cannot be killed by humans or other races—only by fellow witches. But the First Witch, Theresia, is the exception: no witch she created can harm her.
Sierra, the White Witch, is twenty years old. She chose to side with humanity, a stubborn and unyielding guardian. One night, sensing an unfathomable presence approaching the capital, Sierra goes
The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital - A Sword That Cuts the Air
The morning mist blurred the village's outline, dissolving it into something half-remembered.
The dirt paths, the ridges between the fields, the rooftops of the houses—all of it lay beyond a thin white veil. The air was cold and clung to the skin with a damp insistence. Each breath came out white and clouded, vanishing almost instantly.
Behind Arke's house, Shiera stood alone, swinging Luminous.
Her long silver hair cut through the air with every stroke. Her white coat had been cast aside, tossed carelessly onto a nearby pile of firewood. Beneath it she wore only a thin linen tunic, the old scars on her shoulders exposed to the chill.
Whoosh.
The blade split the air.
Whoosh.
Again.
Her form was precise. No wasted tension. The rotation of her hips, the movement of her shoulders, the snap of her wrists—all of it flowed as a single current, traveling to the very tip of the sword. The holy blade Luminous, passed down through generations of White Witches, carried a pale, clear light in the dim morning.
Whoosh.
Shiera was sweating.
A bead of sweat traced a line down her cheek. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic. But her eyes—only her eyes—were fixed on something far beyond the motion of the sword.
(Arke cannot kill Theresia.)
She swung.
(That woman does not possess the power to kill my mother.)
She swung.
(No—it isn't a question of power. That woman has no intention of killing Theresia.)
She swung.
(It makes no difference either way. The reason I came to this village never existed to begin with.)
Her feet stopped.
The hand gripping Luminous slowly lowered. The tip pointed toward the ground, the weight of the white blade sinking into the dew-soaked grass.
She remembered arriving at this village days ago.
She had left the royal capital of Artemis, searching for the one means to kill Theresia, and set foot in this frontier village where the autumn wind swept through. The witch Arke, whom the villagers treated as an ordinary woman. Shiera had knocked on her door, and instead of a sword, she'd been served tea. Instead of a battle, she'd been asked: "Did you come to kill my mother?"
Back then, she had still believed.
That there was something in this village.
Something that could kill Theresia.
But she had been wrong.
Arke was Theresia's daughter. She called her "Mother," embraced her, laughed with her. Shiera had seen it again and again. After her stay stretched past a few days, and Theresia and Lorde settled into the village, that scene became part of the daily rhythm.
In the morning, Arke brewed tea over the hearth. Theresia sat beside her, gnawing on a potato. Lorde hovered like a shadow. The villagers doted on Theresia as "Arke's relative."
And Shiera stood outside it all.
Always.
(Arke cannot kill Theresia.)
(No witch in this world can kill Theresia.)
(The means I sought never existed.)
Shiera regripped her sword.
Her knuckles went white.
(Even so.)
(Even so, I—)
She raised her head.
Beyond the morning mist, the village square came into view. Just a dirt clearing at the center of a small village. A well, and a single old tree spreading its branches.
(I cannot return this sword to its sheath.)
(I must not.)
(If I do, I will cease to be myself.)
Shiera did not sheathe Luminous.
Still gripping the blade, she began walking toward the square in the mist.
Her motive was not a sense of duty.
The capital she should protect, the people she should defend—they were far away now. What remained here was just one woman: Shiera, the White Witch.
Even so, she walked.
Out of nothing but stubbornness—a refusal to admit defeat.
――――
Theresia was in the square.
Her small body wrapped in the morning mist, she sat on the edge of the well. Her shoulder-length brown hair swayed heavily in the damp air, looking almost weighted with moisture. Her large amber eyes gazed vaguely into the distance, seeing nothing in particular.
Beside her stood Lorde.
Black clothes, black hair, jet-black eyes. In the white haze of morning, he alone looked like a shadow cut cleanly out of the world. Half a step behind Theresia, angled to her side. His usual position.
Shiera stopped.
About twenty paces away.
Because of the mist, each other's outlines blurred slightly at the edges.
(Theresia.)
(The Progenitor.)
(Creator of all witches.)
(The one I must kill.)
Shiera raised Luminous.
Both hands on the hilt, the tip pointed at Theresia's chest. The white blade caught the morning light and shone quietly.
"Theresia."
Shiera's voice split the morning stillness.
Hard, direct, utterly unadorned. The same voice she used with kings and colleagues alike—a voice that had never once stooped to flattery.
Theresia slowly raised her head.
Her amber eyes caught Shiera.
"Ah, Shiera. Good morning."
Theresia's voice was soft, innocent.
Despite having a sword pointed at her, her tone was no different from what she'd use to greet a neighbor on any ordinary morning.
"It is not a good morning."
Shiera took a step forward.
"I am pointing my sword at you. This time, I will make it reach."
Theresia tilted her head.
The gesture came from curiosity. The same tilt she'd make when she found something mildly interesting during a boring stretch of time.
"That again? You did this in the capital too, remember? It was fun, but the result will be the same, you know?"
"The result isn't in yet."
"It is. Your sword cannot reach me."
"Silence."
Shiera kicked off the ground.
The morning mist swirled up around her movement, churning white.
She closed the distance in one breath. Twenty paces vanished in an instant.
"Haaaaaah!!"
Shiera struck.
A blow carrying everything she had. What she'd learned in the battles at the capital, the humiliation she'd tasted in this village, the pride Arke's words had shattered, the pain of being forced to witness Theresia and Arke together as mother and daughter.
All of it, poured into Luminous's edge.
The blade swept horizontally, aimed at Theresia's neck.
――It cut through empty air.
No resistance.
Luminous passed through Theresia's body.
No—there wasn't even the sensation of passing through. It was simply cutting air.
Theresia was there. Visible. Close enough to touch. And yet the blade could not catch her. It was like trying to cut a shadow—that same hollow, futile emptiness.
Shiera followed with a second strike, a third.
An overhead slash.
A diagonal cut from the shoulder.
A reverse diagonal.
All of them cut nothing but air.
The white blade passed through Theresia's body. Not a single wound. Not even the fibers of her clothing were disturbed.
"Huh. You've gotten faster than before. But it still doesn't reach."
Theresia watched Shiera's flurry from her seat on the well's edge.
In her eyes there was no irritation, no fear, no mockery.
Only a faint boredom—and a glimmer of mild interest, as though something might happen after all.
That reaction carved into Shiera's heart, deep and deeper still.
(This woman sees my attacks as meaningless from the very start.)
(She recognizes the act of being pointed at with a sword only as an "event.")
(To her, I am part of the scenery.)
Shiera gritted her teeth.
"Not yet... I'm not finished!"
She lunged again.
――That was when it happened.
"That will be enough."
Lorde's voice rang out quietly.
The next instant, Shiera's body was crushed by an invisible force.
――Thud!!
A dull sound.
She was slammed into the ground.
She landed on her back. The air was driven from her lungs in one rush. Her vision burst white, and the taste of iron spread through her mouth.
Dust flew up.
Mixing with the morning mist, the white haze grew thicker.
"My apologies. I will not permit any further disrespect toward Lady Theresia."
Lorde spoke quietly, his right hand still extended forward.
An invisible barrier unfurled around him. It was that barrier's power that had blocked Shiera's strikes and slammed her into the ground.
Shiera couldn't get up.
Her back screamed. She couldn't breathe properly. She thought she heard one of her ribs make a nasty sound.
(So this is Lorde's power.)
(A familiar of Theresia's, and yet he can stop my attacks so easily.)
Shiera spat blood-mixed saliva onto the dirt.
The red liquid seeped into the dry ground.
"Lady Shiera. Lady Theresia has no intention of harming you. Please, lower your sword."
Lorde's voice was polite.
But his eyes were cold, inorganic.
"...I refuse."
Shiera used Luminous as a crutch and rose to her feet.
Her arms trembled. Her knees shook. Pain shot through her back with every breath.
Even so, she stood.
She did not sheathe the sword. She didn't even return it to its scabbard.
"I am the White Witch. The guardian who protects the royal capital. Theresia is my enemy. I have no reason to lower my sword before an enemy."
Shiera raised Luminous once more.
The tip trembled faintly.
But her eyes had not yet broken.
――――
Arke stood in the doorway of the house.
A slender woman with dull flaxen hair tied back in a single tail, wearing a faded, unbleached dress. She watched quietly as the scene unfolded in the misty square.
Her younger sister was pointing a sword at their mother.
Her sister's sword could not reach their mother.
Their mother's familiar had slammed her sister into the ground.
Her sister was rising, spitting blood.
Arke simply watched.
She did not move.
She did not intervene.
She did not call out.
Her hand rested lightly on the wooden frame of the doorway. Her fingertips were slightly white. That was all.
(Shiera.)
(Why do you go that far?)
Something wordless swirled slowly in Arke's chest.
But she did not give it voice.
Even if she did, nothing would change.
Shiera's sword could not reach Theresia.
Theresia regarded Shiera's sword as nothing more than "something interesting."
Lorde would eliminate Shiera to protect Theresia.
Arke knew all of it.
She knew, and she could do nothing.
――――
Lorde stepped back half a pace.
"...I judge there is no need to finish you."
He said it, and released the barrier.
The invisible force pinning Shiera vanished.
"As long as Lady Theresia takes interest in you, I will not eliminate you. But if you point your sword again, then—"
Lorde stopped there.
There was no need to finish. His jet-black eyes said everything.
Shiera glared at him, still gripping Luminous.
"...Next time will be the same. I will point my sword. Again and again. Even if it kills me, I will point it."
"Understood. In that case, I will—"
"Lorde, that's enough."
Theresia's voice cut off Lorde's words.
She hopped down from the edge of the well.
Her small feet landed lightly on the dirt.
"Shiera's job is basically pointing swords at people. She said so in the capital too, remember? That even if it doesn't reach, she'll keep pointing. It's funny, isn't it?"
Theresia turned her back to Shiera.
"Anyway, I'm going to Arke's. Shiera, come have breakfast if you want."
With that, Theresia began walking toward Arke's house.
As though she'd lost interest.
Or as though she'd never been that interested to begin with.
Her small back dissolved slowly into the morning mist.
Shiera stood frozen.
The hand gripping Luminous was shaking.
(There is no means to kill her here. No sword that can reach her.)
(I knew that.)
(I knew, and yet I swung again.)
(And again, I cut nothing but air.)
Shiera slowly lowered her sword.
The tip touched the ground.
(But I cannot put it down.)
(The reason I cannot put it down remains in my hand, stronger than ever.)
She looked at her right hand.
The hand gripping Luminous. The hand that could not release the holy blade passed down through generations of White Witches.
(Even if I stay here, nothing will change.)
(Whether in this village or the capital or anywhere else—)
(I cannot reach Theresia.)
(Even so, I will keep gripping this sword.)
(Because that is my reason for existing.)
For the first time, Shiera gave that thought a clear shape within herself.
Even if she stayed her
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