The Ash Witch (3)
“The holy sword, you say?”
Lucia raised her hand with a puzzled expression, letting it rest on the cloth-wrapped sword. In that instant, the trembling sensation vanished as if it had never been.
“Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?” Lucia asked. Dalen scratched his nose, perplexed.
What is this? I could have sworn I felt something.
”…It’s uncanny,” he muttered.
Lucia squinted slightly, whispering softly enough that the dark sorcerer ahead couldn’t hear. “As you might have heard from Uncle Albus, the holy sword Dalen is carrying has completely lost its divine power.”
Thud.
She tapped the cloth-covered sword. The sound was a dull thud, different from the strange vibration earlier.
“See? It doesn’t react when someone other than its rightful owner touches it, like me or Dalen. It’s proof that, although it hasn’t fallen into corruption, it has lost its divine power due to the demon’s influence. It’s hardly appropriate to call it a true holy sword anymore.”
Dalen knew this well.
A sword that had lost its power, or one cleansed of corruption, was nothing more than a sturdy blade. It was once a vessel for immense divine power, making it nearly unbreakable, but its inherent abilities were gone.
In game terms, it was like a weapon with infinite durability but no special attributes.
Of course, if it were to receive divine power from the paladin order’s sanctuary over a long period, it could regain its abilities. Alternatively, a rare event might occur where a god would breathe power back into the sword.
However, the former would take about a century, and the latter required a legendary paladin to wield the sword, making both scenarios far removed from their current situation.
“Hmm.”
Dalen scratched his chin. It was suspicious, but with the Ash Witch right in front of them, it wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
The group continued deeper into the forest. The surroundings grew increasingly strange.
Twisted trees and yellowed, dying grass. It was as if the entire forest was being drained of life by some unseen force. The only vibrant spots were the occasional red flowers scattered throughout.
As she gazed at the solitary, radiant flowers among the dead leaves, Lucia murmured absentmindedly, “Mandrakes…”
“The witch is cultivating mandrakes by sacrificing people. She’s made a pact with a dark god, artificially proliferating mandrakes in exchange for human sacrifices. That’s why the forest is dying,” the bucktoothed sorcerer suddenly spoke up. Lucia frowned.
“Why are you telling us this?”
”…I don’t know. Maybe my conscience is pricking me. I just feel confused,” he replied.
Dalen tapped the sorcerer’s shoulder from behind, signaling him to keep moving instead of spouting nonsense. The sorcerer quickened his pace, and Dalen followed with long strides, continuing the conversation.
“Hundreds of mandrakes have grown in just a few weeks. Even for a witch, unless her lineage grants her the power to grow plants, she couldn’t do this alone. She must have received help from a dark god.”
“Why go to such lengths? What does she plan to do with all these mandrakes?”
“We talked about it at the inn, didn’t we? The witch who lived in this city harbors a particularly intense malice towards humans.”
Lucia nodded, and Dalen leisurely followed the sorcerer, explaining further.
“Imagine if, in a few more months, over a thousand mandrakes were to grow. And what if they were all uprooted at once, screaming in unison?”
”…That chorus of screams would reach even Rivivach,” Lucia’s face turned pale. Dalen nodded.
“Rivivach would become a city of death overnight.”
“Even if she’s a witch, I learned that her roots are still human. Is her desire for revenge against humanity really that strong? Why…?”
Lucia bit her lip hard. Dalen shrugged, indicating he didn’t know. This time, he wasn’t making excuses.
The game never revealed when the Ash Witch began sharpening her blade against humanity. Even if someone were to tell him, he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it.
Not all witches are inherently evil. Some, despite suffering greatly, remained friendly towards humans. The Feather Witch was a prime example.
Ultimately, it was the Ash Witch herself who chose to expand her vengeance from individuals or groups to all of humanity.
And since she had chosen the destruction of humanity as her wish, Dalen had only one course of action.
To thwart the witch’s plans and ensure she could no longer employ her wicked schemes.
‘The first step in her plan is the abnormal proliferation of mandrakes.’
Using the power gained from sacrificing dozens of people to bloom over a thousand mandrakes.
This was a stepping stone in the contract between the witch and the demon for the next phase.
The true core of this contract was to use the chorus of screams from the mandrakes to sacrifice all humans in the vicinity, including Rivivach, to the dark god.
In return for offering thousands of sacrifices to the dark god, the Ash Witch would gain the power to single-handedly face an army.
Thus would be born one of the most formidable bosses in the mid-game, the ‘Corrupted Ash Witch.’
A witch overflowing with hatred for humanity, now wielding not only her lineage’s power but also the strength of a dark god.
‘Which means, at least for now, she’s not yet the worst boss.’
This was an opportunity.
A chance to deal with one of the worst bosses in advance.
The current witch had only awakened her lineage’s abilities and had not yet received power from the dark god.
Of course, even that made her a dangerous foe, nearly as perilous as a demon, but not entirely insurmountable.
‘The Ash Witch, once she gains full power, becomes a harbinger of doom, surpassing even the demon of the holy sword or the grand apostle. I must end this before she grows any further.’
Nothing had changed.
From the time he preemptively dealt with the giant that would become a threat in the Bronze District’s lower streets.
To when he dispatched the grand apostle before the great plan was fully prepared, and defeated the demon before it could corrupt the holy sword.
Even dealing with the apostles of regression, the war chief of the Noll tribe, and the Frogman tribe in between were all part of the same context.
To preemptively thwart the impending doom.
And to reclaim the bodies that had been swallowed by that doom.
Though the end had begun to reveal its hand quickly in response to his interference.
‘If the hands of doom approach swiftly, I’ll just have to cut them off at the wrist before they reach me.’
Dalen quickened his pace, gently stroking the axe at his waist.
The forest of twisted trees and dead grass stretched on for a while. Dalen suddenly caught a strange scent.
A metallic tang of blood mixed with an unknown, nauseating odor. He thought he could hear a faint bubbling sound.
”…There’s a sinister magic nearby,” Lucia murmured from behind. Dalen turned to look at her.
He saw the grip on the sword in the paladin’s hand tighten. He spread his senses, then nodded.
“We’re almost there.”
And indeed, they were.
The dense trees soon gave way to a clearing in the heart of the forest.
A wide-open space centered around an altar, devoid of a single tree.
A spacious stone altar built for the dark god stood nearby, with a large iron cage imprisoning live sacrifices.
Opposite it, a massive cauldron bubbled with something inside.
“Parn?” Lucia cried out in shock, rushing towards the cage.
Inside the iron bars, about twenty people lay groaning.
Missing one or two limbs, they seemed half-conscious, staring blankly at the sky as if drugged.
It was only after hearing Lucia’s cry that Dalen noticed a familiar face among them.
“Parn! Parn! Are you alright? Snap out of it!”
The young mercenary Parn, who had once guarded the Galleos caravan, was among the sacrifices, his left arm severed and one eye gouged out.
“Ugh… Knight…?”
“Why are you here? No, hold on. I’ll get you out of there!”
Creak!
Lucia forcefully pried open the iron bars, pulling out the young mercenary and laying the other captives on the grass one by one.
The bucktoothed sorcerer, watching the scene, muttered absentmindedly, ”…Is the witch not here?”
His voice was filled with confusion, but there was also a hint of relief.
Dalen ignored him and peered into the cauldron.
The thick, bubbling contents.
Amidst the floating grease and foam, well-cooked bones and flesh bobbed up and down.
It wasn’t hard to guess what kind of stew it was.
The size and shape of the bone fragments were clear evidence.
“Damn cannibal bastards.”
Dalen kicked the cauldron hard. Its contents spilled out, rolling across the ground along with what had settled at the bottom.
Partially dissolved human limbs and heads, dismembered body parts.
At that moment, a voice echoed through the clearing.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems our paladin and barbarian need a lesson in table manners.”
Ssshhh.
Something drifted down from the hazy sky.
It was as if someone had tipped over a barrel of ashes, letting its contents spill out.
The ash that poured from the sky gathered at the edge of the clearing, slowly taking the shape of a human.
“Didn’t your late parents teach you that it’s rude to overturn someone else’s table?”
A damp wind scattered the ashes.
Standing amidst the swirling ash was a hunched old woman, cloaked and hooded.
Beneath the hood, her yellow eyes gleamed.
The bucktoothed necromancer, upon meeting those eyes, immediately fell to his knees and bowed.
“M-Mistress Witch!”
“Tsk, tsk. Hans. Wasn’t it your turn to offer the tribute today?”
The witch gazed steadily at the bucktoothed man. She slowly approached him, tapping her crooked back.
“Hans, Hans. What did this old woman tell you?”
“Mistress Witch, it wasn’t my intention. They said if I didn’t bring you here, I’d be killed…”
“Weren’t you supposed to choose a suitable offering?”
The witch chuckled, a laugh as innocent as a child’s.
Yet the wrinkles that curled up with her lips turned that smile into something more sinister.
“This old hag is a demoness, you see. She must devour disobedient children to be satisfied.”
“A-ah…”
The witch flicked her finger.
With a pop, the necromancer’s head was severed, flying off like a cork from a bottle, landing somewhere beyond the forest.
From the neck of the fallen body, ash trickled out instead of blood.
“Tsk, tsk. When an old woman speaks, you should listen. That’s just good manners.”
The witch chuckled, stomping on the necromancer’s corpse.
”…The Ash Witch.”
At that moment, Lucia, who had rescued all the captives, stood in front of them, drawing her sword.
“Among the living witches, the lineage of ash is clearly documented in the knights’ archives.”
Her holy tattoos glowed.
Simultaneously, her sword was engulfed in the blazing white flame of a sacred beast.
“An irredeemable villain, to be treated the same as a demon.”
”…Oh, an Inquisitor, are you?”
Lucia, with her shield and sword raised, declared to the smirking witch.
“Lucia Castachild of the Holy Knights, protectors of the continent’s balance, will now execute the Ash Witch—”
CRACK—!
The declaration was cut short.
A disc of light flew in, striking the witch squarely between the eyes, interrupting her smug laughter.
Lucia, bewildered, turned to Dalen, who nodded toward the witch with an axe embedded in her head.
“Don’t waste your strength. That’s a fake.”
Lucia, eyes wide, looked back at the fallen witch.
The body, as if time had reversed, slowly rose again.
”…My, you’re quite perceptive for a barbarian.”
The witch grinned, the axe still lodged in her head.