Silent Witch

Book 15: Chapter 6: The Item He Left Behind

Book 15: Chapter 6: The Item He Left Behind

The Sheffield Holiday passed as the wind spirit Sheffield carried the spring breeze, the Ridill Kingdom turned refreshingly springlike, and the forests were dyed in the color of fresh greenery. However, in the northern regions of the Ridill Kingdom, the snowy shadows still linger on Mount Verandge.

Along that mountain path still tinged with the chill of winter walked a young nun bundled up in a thick coat. She could only be called a nun because she wore a nun's hood. Aside from that, her appearance was far from nunlike.

What this "nun" had was a woven basket on her back and gripped a crossbow in her hand.

Crunching through the frosted earth, the nun squatted down, checking for animal tracks while plucking and tossing fresh mountain vegetables into her basket with deft, fluid motions that betrayed an efficient, wasteless manner.

Today it's just mountain vegetables again. I'd love to have some meat on the table too, but

While some churches forbid clergy from hunting or eating meat, the spirit deity this nun served did not prohibit such acts. In fact, it was quite fond of hunting and was revered as a hunting deity in some regions.

More importantly, in the barren northern lands where food was scarce, meat from hunting was a precious source of nourishment.

Since the monastery where she lived housed mostly elderly women, this young nun was primarily responsible for procuring food. She would go down to town for shopping about twice a month, but fresh meat was seldom available.

As she swallowed her saliva, wistfully imagining the taste of fatty meat again, her ears caught the faint sound of approaching footsteps.

Hmm, the direction suggests the creature is upwind of her, but why is it coming this way?

Puzzled yet readying her crossbow, the nun's eyes widened at the figure emerging from the trees' shadows.

"Hiieeee! W-w-wait, I, I, I won't sh-shoot, jus-"

Trembling before her was a petite girl clutching a black cat.

The nunCasey Grooverecognized this girl.

It was Monica Everett, the Silent Witch, one of the Seven Sages who sat at the pinnacle among the magicians in the Ridill Kingdom.

"Monica?"

As Casey lowered her crossbow and spoke Monica's name, Monica weakly smiled back, looking rather helpless.

"Long time no see, Casey."

"Watch your step there, it's slippery."

"O-Okay, waaah"

Casey hurriedly grabbed Monica's arm as she almost slipped after being warned.

"You okay?"

"Y-yes th-thank you."

After Monica's awkward thanks, Casey scratched her cheek self-consciously and continued walking ahead.

How many months had it been since she last spoke to Monica?

Casey probably no longer considered Monica a friend, but Monica still thought of Casey as one.

Still, if Monica acted too friendly here, she would likely just make Casey uncomfortable. Casey was kind, so she wouldn't show displeasure outright, but still

The two walked in awkward silence until they reached an aged monasteryCasey's current residence.

The cat Nero in Monica's arms mewled, sounding chilly.

It was none other than Nero who had transported Monica here. Monica could not use flight magic, and humans generally lacked the magical power for extended flight anyway.

However, traveling by carriage to this remote monastery would have taken far too long.

So Monica had ridden on Nero's back as he took his true black dragon form, flying her here.

Soaring through the skies atop a dragonit was the stuff of storybooks, Monica had thought.

Her inquisitive friend Glenn would surely be envious, but Monica's sole impression was: "It was high, cold, and scary."Nnêw n0vel chapters are published at novelhall.com

The northern Ridill regions still bore the lingering chill of winter, and Nero, who disliked the cold, had shifted into his cat form and snuggled into Monica's clothes as soon as they arrived.

"Is that cat your familiar?" Casey asked, turning to Monica.

"Yeah, something like thatbut can he come into the monastery?"

Nero mewled indignantly in Monica's arms as if protesting

After braving that cold flight, you'd cast me out?!

Casey paused before the monastery doors, studying Nero intently.

Casey had encountered the human-formed Nero during the assassination attempt incident.

Monica's heart raced, wondering if Nero's true identity had been discovered. However, Casey's expression softened as she stroked Nero's head, remarking, "How cute."

Someone I know.

Saying it out loud, Monica was struck by how superficial it sounded. And yet, she did not know how else to define Isaac's existence to her.

To Isaac, Monica was a nightlife friend.

To him in the Academy, Monica was a junior in the student council.

And to him, the Silent Witch was an admired great magician.

But if asked what he' was to her, Monica could not express it well.

"That person is obsessed with something, and I could not understand why that person went to such lengths."

"But you wish to understand, don't you?"

"Yes."

That's right. Monica wanted to understand Isaac at least a little. That's why she had come all this way to these northern lands.

"Marcy was one of the few who knew about that person I wanted to meet her and hear what she had to say."

Monica had thought that by hearing about Isaac and the late Prince Felix from Marcy, she may be able to understand Isaac's obsession.

But it had been for naught.

Seeing Monica's dejection, Sister Rona asked, "Since this person is in a difficult situation, do you wish to help that person?"

"Yes."

The word came out surprisingly smoothly.

Yes, Monica wanted to help that person despite being consumed by an obsession, he still had a childlike side that made his eyes light up over magic and the Silent Witch.

Even now, Monica could not define how she felt about Felix. Lana was a friend. Cyril was a respected senior. But Isaac? When asked, Monica could not find the answer.

When they first met, he had picked up a nut for her.

He had forcibly recruited her into the student council, always teasing her.

In the red light district, he said they were nightlife friends and gifted her a book and necklace.

When meeting her as the Silent Witch, he regarded her with admiration.

Even if his actions were unforgivable. Even if he was deeply involved in her father's death.

Still, Monica could not hate him. She found herself wanting to see him againhim with that boyish sparkle in his eyes over his love for magic.

"I want to help that person. That's why I want to know more about them."

As if convincing herself, as the words spilled out, the sternness seemed to leave Sister Rona's expression as she watched Monica.

"And what is this person's name?"

"Isaac Isaac Walker."

Upon hearing that name from Monica, Sister Rona fell into contemplative silence. Then, "Please wait a moment," she said, leaving the chapel.

I wonder what that's about

As Monica pondered curiously, Sister Rona soon returned, cradling a small cloth bundle with care.

"Here, take this."

Handing the bundle to the puzzled Monica, Sister Rona's face held a hint of nostalgic reflection as she explained:

"This is one of Sister Marcy's belongings left behind. On her deathbed, she said, If someone named Isaac Walker ever comes seeking me, please give this to him.'"

"Are you sure to entrust this item to me?"

Sister Rona cast her eyes down, her expression betraying a human struggle.

"From your manner, it seems unlikely for Mr. Walker to visit here himself. So I will take it upon myself to entrust this to you instead."

Gently caressing the cloth bundle, Sister Rona continued in a mournful, caring tone.

"Sister Marcy lived in constant fear and regret. Until her last breath, she seemed tormented, endlessly apologizing to someoneBy giving this to you, I hope she may finally rest peacefully in the Goddess's embrace."

With a nod, Monica carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal a diary. The first page contained a sealed envelope.

Though aged, the ornate binding and gilded accents suggested this was no cheap journal.

Was this Marcy's diary? Turning to the page with the envelope, Monica's eyes widened.

For the handwriting scrawled there was childishly crudeit was the diary of the late, true Second Prince Felix Ark Ridill himself.