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 Single Piece of Candy
The autumn morning wrapped itself around the village.
The sky was high, the clouds thin, the wind dry. The soil in the fields, still holding last night's dew, looked just a little heavier than usual. Along the road leading to the village entrance, fallen leaves lay scattered, and each step upon them raised a small, crisp sound.
Shiera stood before the inn.
Her long silver hair was gathered into a single tail at her back, and her white coat hung straight from her shoulders. On her back rested the holy sword Luminous. On the ring finger of her left hand sat the silver ring passed down through generations of White Witches. On the back of her hand, faint in the morning light, rose the small old scars carved by battles past.
The innkeeper poked his head out from the doorway.
A small man past sixty, his back bent, deep wrinkles etched into his sun-darkened face. He looked at Shiera, started to say something, then slowly closed his mouth.
"Thank you for everything."
Shiera's voice was short and hard, as if slicing through the autumn air.
The innkeeper's brows drooped with worry.
"You're just gonna leave without a word? Don't you have something to tell Alke?"
"...There's nothing to say."
That was all she said, and then she pressed several silver coins into the innkeeper's hands, as if forcing them upon him.
"This much... I can't take it."
"Take it. I've been a burden."
Shiera wrapped both her hands around his, closing his fingers over the coins. His hands were rough and hard from soil and firewood.
"...Where are you going?"
"The Royal Capital. It's the only place I can return to."
The innkeeper opened his mouth as if to say something more, but in the end, he only gave a small nod.
"Take care of yourself. You're too serious. It wouldn't hurt to lean on people a little more."
Shiera didn't answer.
She turned her back on him and began walking down the road toward the village exit.
――――
The village was quiet.
Neither the farmers heading out to the morning fields nor the women drawing water at the well had yet appeared. The villagers' houses were all built of wood, their walls coated in dried mud, their roofs thatched with straw. With each step Shiera took, the hem of her coat brushed faintly against the dirt path.
(What did I come to this village for?)
(To find a means to kill Theresia.)
(And I found nothing.)
(No — it isn't that I found nothing. There was nothing to find from the start.)
Deep in her chest, Shiera felt something cold slowly hardening.
(Alke cannot kill Theresia.)
(It isn't that she lacks the power. She lacks the will.)
(That woman loves our mother.)
(The means I sought does not exist anywhere in this world.)
And yet, Shiera thought.
(And yet, I cannot lay down my sword.)
(If I set it down, I would cease to be myself.)
(Even if it never reaches her, even if I can never kill her, I will keep my blade pointed at her.)
(That is the only way for the woman called Shiera, the White Witch, to exist.)
Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Luminous at her back.
――――
The village exit drew near.
A narrow path between houses.
The walls on either side blocked the morning light, casting deep shadows across the path.
Shiera stepped into that shadow.
And then.
"...Shiera."
A voice. She heard it.
Shiera stopped.
She did not turn around.
(Alke.)
(That woman called out to me.)
(What does she want?)
Shiera turned, slowly.
In the exact center of the narrow path between the houses.
There stood Alke.
Her dull flaxen hair tied back in a single tail, a faded, unbleached dress beneath a soiled apron. A thin body. Tired eyes. Shiera's sister, living in this village as an "ordinary woman."
Alke held out a small cloth bundle with both hands.
"This... would you take it with you?"
Alke's voice was quiet, polite, and yet somehow hesitant.
Shiera didn't answer.
She didn't release her hand from Luminous.
Her fingertips rested on the hilt, unmoving.
(I have no intention of taking it.)
(I never intended to accept anything from that woman.)
Shiera looked directly at Alke's face.
Alke didn't look away.
Still holding out the bundle, she gazed steadily back into Shiera's eyes.
The silence settled slowly over the narrow path.
――――
"May I open it?"
Alke said this and slowly opened the bundle before her chest.
The cloth unfurled.
From within appeared a single piece of candy.
A small, pale pink candy.
Translucent in the morning light, glowing faintly, softly.
Shiera looked at it.
(That is...)
(The candy Theresia handed out to children in the Royal Capital's market.)
(The candy that woman so innocently gave to human children.)
Deep in Shiera's chest, an old memory ached faintly.
The central market of the Royal Capital, Artemis.
The Silverstream Market, held every day.
There, Theresia handed out candy to children.
Smiling brightly, innocently, just candy, to human children.
Shiera had watched that scene from a distance.
(Even then, that woman saw humans as nothing but toys or pawns.)
(And yet, the children gathered around her.)
(Not because they wanted candy. They were drawn to that woman's bottomless stillness.)
(I tried to kill her then.)
(And I couldn't leave a single scratch.)
Shiera pressed her lips tightly together.
"Mother remembers you too, you know."
Alke said this quietly.
Those words were neither comfort nor encouragement.
Simply a statement of fact.
"Mother remembers the night you pointed your sword at her in the Royal Capital. Your face, your sword, the fact that you were still standing at the end."
Alke's voice flowed slowly over the narrow path.
Shiera chewed on those words deep in her chest.
(She remembers.)
(Theresia remembers me.)
(She remembers that I tried to kill her.)
(Behind that innocent smile, my existence is properly recorded.)
(But.)
Shiera raised her head.
Her gray eyes caught Alke's dull eyes directly.
"Being remembered and being loved are different things."
Shiera's voice was sharp and cold.
Alke's expression wavered, just slightly.
But she didn't look away.
She only narrowed her eyes, sadly.
"...Yes. You're right."
Alke said this quietly.
In that voice there was no rebuttal, no denial, no excuse.
Only a quiet affirmation.
(This woman understands.)
(She understands that Mother does not love her daughter.)
(And still, she loves her.)
(Knowing she is not loved, she does not stop loving.)
Deep in Shiera's chest, something creaked.
――――
"I won't take that candy."
Shiera said.
Alke gently closed the bundle.
"...I see."
Alke tucked the closed bundle carefully against her chest.
Shiera tightened her grip on Luminous.
She did not draw the sword from its sheath.
It wasn't that she couldn't.
She wouldn't.
(I cannot kill this woman.)
(I have no reason to kill her, no power to kill her, no will to kill her.)
(But I cannot lay down my sword either.)
(To let Luminous leave my hand would mean my death.)
Shiera opened her mouth.
"I cannot kill you."
Her own voice was swallowed into the autumn air.
"But as long as you two exist, I cannot lay down my sword."
The words spilled from her lips.
(Ah.)
(Yes.)
(This is my answer.)
For the first time, Shiera recognized it within herself, in clear and certain form.
(I cannot kill Theresia.)
(I searched for a means to kill her and came all the way to this village.)
(And that means never existed from the start.)
(But that does not mean my journey was in vain.)
(Knowing it will never reach her, and still not laying down my sword.)
(That is how Shiera, the White Witch, exists.)
(Killing is not the only form of battle.)
(Continuing to point my blade — that itself is my battle.)
A strong light kindled in Shiera's gray eyes.
Alke watched those eyes in silence.
She did not nod.
She did not argue.
She only narrowed her eyes, sadly.
"...I see."
Alke said only that.
And with the bundle still tucked against her chest, she took one step back.
She opened the path.
She did not stop her.
She did not apologize.
She only saw her off.
Shiera turned her back on Alke.
"...Take care."
Leaving only those words behind, Shiera began to walk.
She did not look back.
She would say nothing more.
She passed through the narrow path and headed for the village exit.
――――
She cleared the village exit.
Fields spread to either side.
The autumn wind shook Shiera's silver hair roughly.
And then.
She felt a presence at her back.
(Theresia.)
Shiera did not stop walking.
But she felt that presence clearly against her back.
At the edge of the village was a small rise.
A gentle hill overlooking the fields.
On that hill stood Theresia.
Shiera did not turn around.
She would not turn around.
(That woman is watching me.)
(From the rise, looking down at my back.)
(But I will not turn around.)
(I must not turn around.)
Shiera tightened her grip on Luminous.
Strength gathered in her fingers.
(I am going.)
(Back to the Royal Capital.)
(That is the only place I can return to.)
(Even if, there too, I am alone.)
Shiera kept walking.
――――
On the rise.
Theresia gazed steadily down at Shiera's back.
Her brown, shoulder-length hair swayed softly in the autumn wind.
Her large amber eyes simply followed the white back receding into the distance, quietly.
In her hand, at some point, was a small cloth bundle.
The bundle Alke had tucked against her chest moments ago.
Theresia toyed with it slowly, idly, with her free hand.
"...She's gone, hasn't she."
Theresia's voice was carried away by the autumn wind.
Beside her stood Lorde.
Black clothes. Black hair. Jet-black eyes.
Making no sound, like a shadow, he waited half a step behind and to the side of Theresia.
"Lady Theresia. Shall we follow her?"
Lorde's voice was polite and calm.
Theresia watched Shiera's back for a while.
Then she gave a small shake of her head.
"No."
A short answer.
Lorde bowed silently.
Theresia lifted the bundle in her hand.
The pale pink candy glittered in the morning light.
"That child still cannot kill me. That's all there is to it."
In Theresia's voice there was neither interest nor sorrow.
Simply a confirmation of fact.
"How interesting. She points her sword, yet cannot kill. She cannot kill, yet will not lay down her sword. I wonder if she'll live her whole life that way."
Theresia murmured.
"...Who can say. At least, as long as that sword doesn't break, she will keep pointing it."
"I see. Then it simply must not break. If it breaks, that child will surely no longer be able to stand."
Theresia gently tucked the bundle against her chest.
And then, one last time, she gazed at Shiera's back.
The white coat grew smaller and smaller in the autumn light, receding into the distance.
"...How dull."
Theresia said this quietly.
Lorde stepped quietly forward.
"Shall I find something interesting for you?"
"Yes. That sounds nice. But today, I think I'll stay here a while longer. Alke said she'd make lunch."
"Understood. As you wish, Lady Theresia."
Lorde bowed deeply.
Theresia stood on the rise, buffeted by the autumn wind, quietly watching the white back recede into the distance, for a long, long time.
――――
Shiera walked alone along the highway leading to the Royal Capital.
There was nothing around her.
The fields gave way to barren vacant lots, and eventually to nothing but dry earth and withered grass, an empty expanse.
The sky was blue, high, clear to the farthest reaches.
Each time the wind blew, dust dirtied the hem of her white coat.
Shiera tightened her grip on Luminous.
Strength gathered in her fingers.
(I have confirmed that I am not loved.)
(That woman remembers me.)
(But she does not love me.)
(That is not my mother. That is my creator.)
(To me, she is simply an enemy.)
(I cannot kill my enemy. But I cannot lay down my sword.)
(This pain and this will are now in the same hand.)
Shiera looked at her own hand.
The hand that grips the swor
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