The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital - Even if it doesn't reach

The smell of blood still lingered deep in her nose. Beneath the royal castle of Granrein, the aftermath of the collapse hung in the air like a held breath. Shattered fragments of stone lay scattered across the floor, and chunks of the ceiling had peeled away and fallen. More than half the torches on the walls had gone out; only the surviving flames still flickered, thin and trembling. In the center of that dim space, Shiera stood. Her white coat was soaked in blood, barely retaining any trace of its original color. Her silver-white hair, too, was covered in dark red stains, sweat and blood mingling and clinging to her cheeks. The wound in her left side was deep, and the blood that had flowed from it had formed a small pool on the floor. From the gash on her right shoulder, still-warm blood traced down her arm and dripped from her fingertips. Her breathing was shallow. Her vision blurred white at the edges, again and again. And still, Shiera stood. The holy sword Luminous, gripped in her right hand, thrust straight forward. The white blade gave off a faint glow in the dim underground. The holy sword, imbued with light-attribute magic, had not lost its radiance even soaked in its wielder's blood. (I can still stand.) As if convincing herself, Shiera regripped Luminous. Her fingers wouldn't move properly. Sensation was dull. She'd lost too much blood. Her knees were shaking. —And yet. "...Come." Her voice was hoarse. Her throat was dry, and she couldn't sustain her breath. But there was not a sliver of hesitation in those words. That was when it happened. From beyond the mountain of rubble, she heard footsteps. No — precisely speaking, they weren't footsteps. Without sound, without presence, she simply appeared. From the shadow of a collapsed stone pillar, a girl stepped forward. Brown hair that reached her shoulders. The ends curled loosely. Her large brown eyes shone with a strange clarity even in the dim underground. She stood about four foot ten. A face you could find anywhere — an ordinary girl's features. And yet, the air was different only where she stood. Sound vanished. Light warped. As if time had stopped, everything went quiet. A bottomless stillness. A chill that ran down your spine just from standing beside her — and yet a strange gravity you couldn't look away from. The Primordial Witch Theresia walked lightly over the rubble and approached Shiera head-on — for the first time, by her own will. —Until now, Theresia had never once drawn near Shiera. Not in the flames of the Silverstream Market, not in the collapse beneath the royal castle — Theresia had always only watched from afar. As a bystander, merely amused. But now. Theresia stood before Shiera on her own two feet. The distance between them was about three paces. If she extended her sword, it might reach. It might not. That kind of exquisite distance. Theresia slowly looked Shiera's blood-soaked form up and down. The stains on her white coat. The wound in her side. The gash on her shoulder. Her trembling knees. And still, the right hand that would not lower its sword. Her brown eyes observed all of it, carefully. In that gaze there was no hostility, no pity, no mockery. Only pure curiosity. "Hey." Theresia's voice rang clear through the underground silence. "Why are you pointing your sword at me?" That question was neither an attack nor a taunt. In the eight hundred years since she had birthed the first witch into this world, Theresia had seen countless witches. Her children all worshipped her, feared her, or kept their distance. But not one of them had ever continued to point a sword at her. This was a first for Theresia. To face head-on a being that kept its blade turned toward her. That question had spilled naturally from her pure curiosity. Shiera received Theresia's question with her gray eyes. The smell of blood. The smell of earth. The smell of sweat. The underground air, thick with all of them mingled, filled her lungs. With every breath, the wound in her side throbbed. The edges of her vision flickered white. (Why do I point my sword at her?) Shiera asked herself the same question. The answer had been decided long ago. "...To kill you." Shiera's voice was hoarse, but clear. Theresia tilted her head. "But you can't kill me, can you?" Those words were fact. The Primordial's blessing. Not a single witch Theresia had created could harm her, their creator. Shiera's attacks had never once reached Theresia — not that night, not in the market, not underground. "So then, why?" Theresia's brown eyes fixed on Shiera. A gaze full of curiosity, innocent. Shiera received that gaze and exhaled slowly. "...I can't kill you." She admitted it in her own words. "Even so, as long as you exist, I cannot lay down my sword." Those words were not the duty of a guardian contract, nor loyalty to King Ordis. As the only witch who had chosen of her own will to stand on humanity's side, facing her creator Theresia, these were the first words she had ever spoken of her own volition. "You are in this royal capital. That alone threatens what I must protect. So I point my sword at you. Even if I can't kill you, even if it never reaches — it doesn't matter. As long as you exist, I will stand here, sword raised, and never lower it." By the end, Shiera's voice was barely breath. Her body, having lost too much blood, was crying out its limit. The trembling in her knees grew stronger. Her vision blurred. And yet, Luminous pointed straight at Theresia. Theresia listened quietly to Shiera's words. Then, slowly, she smiled. "...How interesting." That smile was innocent, like a flower blooming. "You're really interesting. I think this is the first time I've ever wanted to watch someone more." In Theresia's voice, a faint trace of an emotion she'd never shown before was mixed in. What it was, Shiera couldn't tell. Theresia herself didn't understand it either. —Just then, from behind Theresia, a quiet voice spoke. "Lady Theresia." A man in a black coat had, at some point, come to stand half a step behind Theresia. His black hair was cropped short, and his jet-black eyes were deep, as if they swallowed light. He made no sound when he walked. Even in the dim underground, his shadow fell on the floor darker than his body, unnaturally distinct. Lorde observed Shiera's entire body. Remaining combat strength. Blood loss. Respiratory state. He assessed it all in an instant. "That witch's blood loss has reached a dangerous level. If left as she is, she will eventually bleed to death. Her remaining combat strength is virtually nil. We can dispose of her easily now. What are your orders?" Lorde's voice was businesslike and cold. It was the voice of a man asking whether to kill Shiera with the same detachment as seeking approval on a document. Shiera gritted her teeth at Lorde's words. (Dispose of, is it.) More than the fear of being killed, that phrasing ignited anger in her. But her body wouldn't move. The hand gripping Luminous trembled as if convulsing. Theresia tilted her head at Lorde's question, as if pondering for a while. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No. Not yet." "Because she's still interesting. If this girl dies, it'd be boring, wouldn't it? Besides, if she dies, then the next time we meet, there won't be anyone to point a sword at me." Theresia giggled. "I want to see this girl's sword more. Even if it never reaches, she'll keep pointing it at me, won't she? I think that's a really interesting thing." Lorde bowed deeply. "Understood. As you command, Lady Theresia." Lorde's voice held a faint trace of emotion, reserved only for Theresia. Theresia looked at Shiera once more. "Hey, White Witch." "I think I'll be leaving this royal capital soon." Shiera's gray eyes widened slightly. "This place was pretty interesting. The fire, the collapse, your sword — all of it was fun. But I'm starting to want to go somewhere else. I mean, staying in the same place forever gets boring, doesn't it?" Theresia said it innocently, like a tourist sharing impressions of a trip. "So I'm going now. Don't die, okay? If you die, we can't meet again." With that, Theresia turned her back on Shiera. "Lorde, let's go." "Understood." Lorde followed after Theresia. The two of them walked soundlessly through the collapsed underground passage. Shiera watched their backs, sword still raised. (Don't go.) A voiceless voice died in the back of her throat. (I have to stop you here.) Her legs wouldn't move. Blood kept flowing. Her vision darkened. Luminous was heavy. Her arm was about to drop. —No. Shiera gritted her teeth and reset her stance. (I will not watch you leave.) (As long as you exist, I will not lay down my sword.) (Even if this hand can no longer move.) Shiera's gray eyes kept watching Theresia's back as it disappeared into the darkness. ———— Outside the royal castle, a man stood before Theresia. Short hair, black now beginning to mix with white. Sharp blue eyes. On the finger of his left hand, a large ring — the signet of the king. His right hand still concealed a short sword for self-defense. The King of the Kingdom of Artemis, Ordis Rein. When the king recognized Theresia, he bowed deeply. "Lady Theresia, Primordial. I am Ordis Rein, King of the Kingdom of Artemis." The king's voice trembled slightly. Fear of the witch and reverence were mingled together. "For the discomfort we caused you in our royal capital this time, I offer my deepest apologies. The rampage of the Apostles of the Ash Crown, the collapse of the royal castle, and the rudeness of my knights. All of it stems from my own inadequacy." Ordis continued, head still bowed low. "The kingdom will never forget this stroll. That the Primordial graced this land with her presence — and how small a existence we humans truly are — I will engrave it upon my heart." The king's words were words of submission. But beneath them lay another emotion. He was keenly aware of the fragility of a kingdom that depended on witches. Eliminate the Primordial, and the kingdom perishes. Submit, and it is allowed to live. Whichever he chose, this country rested in the palm of Theresia's hand. Ordis understood that fact painfully well. That was precisely why he bowed his head. To protect his people. Theresia glanced at the deeply bowing king with her brown eyes. In that gaze there was no interest, no admiration, nothing. She had merely let him enter her field of vision for a moment. "Mm. It was fun." That was all Theresia said. Then she began walking past the king. "Next time, show me something even more interesting." She didn't look back. She didn't look at the king's face. She simply left those words behind and walked on. Lorde followed quietly half a step behind. Ordis waited, head still bowed, as the two passed by. Cold sweat traced down his back. (Was this the right choice?) The king asked himself. No answer came. ———— On the road toward the capital's gate, Lorde quietly addressed his own shadow. "The remnants?" Lorde's shadow swayed. From within the shadow, a small black familiar appeared without a sound. Shaped like a raven, it perched on Lorde's shoulder and whispered something into his ear. "...I see. Valcas has been captured." Lorde nodded quietly. The leader of the Apostles of the Ash Crown, Valcas. The man who had activated the grand ritual to kill the witch beneath the royal castle. His plan had been reduced to nothing by a single fingertip of Theresia's, and Valcas himself had been caught in the collapse and gravely wounded. Lorde's familiars had captured every last remnant of the Apostles who had been lurking throughout the royal capital. The organization was, for all practical purposes, annihilated. "Good work. You may withdraw." The familiar melted back into the shadow. Theresia walked on, paying no mind to the exchange behind her. "Lor

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Episode 7

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

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