The dawn light spilled over the village, softening the world in hues of gold and amber. I stood at the edge of the main clearing, the familiar sounds of morning stirring around me. The children's laughter, the rustle of straw brooms against dirt, the gentle murmur of voices—it all felt like a story I was about to close. The villagers gathered, their smiles warm but touched with the quiet sadness of parting.
Evelyn was among them, standing a step ahead. She moved toward me, her eyes searching mine before pulling me into a tight embrace. Her touch was fleetingly warm, a gesture that spoke of more than she would say aloud. As she drew back, her gaze met mine, her smile perfectly in place. But this time, I saw it for what it was: a mask.
'Fake,' the thought surfaced, clear and unbidden, like a reflection in still water.
Her smile faltered, just for a moment, but enough for me to see through the cracks. Something sharp and knowing passed between us, unspoken but understood. I returned the smile, lighter, a farewell wrapped in an unsaid promise. Then, with the villagers' well-wishes trailing behind me like the echo of a song, I turned toward the path that led to the boundary of the village.
My steps were measured, carrying me away from their watchful eyes and the warmth that masked unease. As the forest's shadows gathered around me, the puzzle pieces that had danced on the edge of my mind finally fell into place. The herb paste. The subtle way my thoughts had dulled when I first awoke. The unnatural balance of mana that hung in the village like an invisible shroud.
It had been there all along, hidden under layers of trust and routine. The herb paste Evelyn used wasn't just for healing—it had numbed more than just my wounds. When I was at the Blue stage, injured and vulnerable, I hadn't noticed. But breaking through to the Indigo stage had sharpened everything, lifting the veil she had so carefully drawn over me.
My mana resistance had strengthened, revealing the subtle threads she'd woven into the air. Her mana had always been there, but hidden, woven into something larger. The village's mana didn't flow naturally; it was directed, managed. And there was only one explanation that fit: a spell array.
Spell arrays were intricate, complex constructions that could influence the mana of an area, bend it to the will of the caster without them being the visible source. The perfect cover for a witch.
And witches—witches were unique among spellcasters. Their mana held properties that were alien to the standard eleven elements. Witchcraft was a realm of shadow and whispers, of blood and secrets, of magic that wove itself into the unseen places between things. Manipulation, binding, curses—it was all part of the same dance. Yet, being a witch did not mean being evil. It meant being different, misunderstood, feared.
I reached the boundary of the village, where the worn path faded into the dense green of the forest. The air felt denser here, as if waiting. I stilled myself, closing my eyes and drawing a steady breath. Then, I pushed out a thin thread of mana, sending it curling out into the air like a silent question.
The response was immediate—a subtle hum, not from Evelyn, but from the very ground beneath me. It pulsed back, a network of lines and sigils hidden deep under the surface, woven into the roots and stones, spread out like the web of a great spider. The spell array. It was there, whispering in its silent language, holding the village in a delicate, invisible grip.
My eyes snapped open, and the last of my doubts fell away like leaves in an autumn wind.
Evelyn was a witch.
Not the simple village healer who patched wounds and shared stories by the fire, but something far more complex. The girl who had met my gaze with warmth and hidden sorrow, who had tended to me with deft, gentle hands, was not just a guardian of life but a weaver of fates. And I, Lancelot von Silvaria, stood at the edge of her web.
'Why did she let me go?' The question gnawed at me as I traced the subtle pulses of the spell array underfoot. My experience with spell arrays was meager compared to masters of the craft, but past battles had forced me to learn their signatures, their traps, their whispers. And this one—this array was familiar, a specter from my past life that I had thought banished to the edges of memory.
A manipulation array.
"So this is how they fell," I muttered, the realization settling over me like a chill wind. The Golden Dragon Knights hadn't succumbed to mere human malice or folly. No, their downfall was laced with something far older, deeper—a witch's craft. And not just any witch. If my deductions were right, Evelyn was an Indigo core witch, one who had reached the elusive flow stage in her spellcasting—a mastery akin to resonance for warriors.
But this array wasn't desgined by her. It was designed by someone stronger than Evelyn. An array that could corrupt and break minds, even that of a Golden Dragon Knight Captain. The reason my mind did not break was simply because of my past life experience.
The implications coiled around my mind, a serpent tightening its grip. The array beneath the village, woven so carefully that I hadn't sensed it before, was not just a tool. It was a net, drawing in mana and the very essence of those who stepped within its bounds. That explained the unnatural way the mana in the village moved, a dance directed by invisible strings. It explained the Golden Dragon Knights' collapse, their formidable auras snuffed out and corrupted.
But what left me rooted to the ground, staring into the shifting greens and golds of the forest, was the question that refused to let go: Why hadn't she done the same to me? Why hadn't I felt the cold reach of that array when I lay defenseless, my life balanced on the edge of recovery?
Was it pity? Some strange, inexplicable mercy? Or had she known my strength, gauged me as too risky to absorb, too much of a force to bend to her will? The thought stung, more than I cared to admit. Evelyn, with her sharp eyes that had watched me when she thought I wasn't looking, her touch careful as she bound my wounds, her laughter that had warmed the chilly nights by the fire. Could it have been… care?
The word felt foreign, too soft for the truth I was wrestling with. Yet, I couldn't shake it.
I closed my eyes, the thrum of mana under my feet beating in time with the confusion pounding in my chest. I didn't know. I couldn't know, not without facing her again, not without peeling back the masks we both wore.
But I wanted to know.
The realization struck like a bell tolling in the silence of my thoughts. I wanted to look into those eyes that had held so many contradictions—tenderness and cunning, warmth and distance—and ask. Ask without blades or threats or the echo of killing intent.
But was it even possible to seek the truth? To face Evelyn and walk away with answers rather than blood on the ground? The current Evelyn, an Indigo core witch with power that thrummed beneath the village like a heartbeat, could be a formidable threat, even for me. If I didn't draw my sword, the fight might tilt in her favor.
'Do you wish to know?' The voice slipped into my mind, not harsh but gentle, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment.
Instinct flared, and my spear leapt to my hands, its weight familiar and reassuring. I scanned the shadows, muscles coiled to strike, only to freeze at the sight before me. A small rabbit, with fur as white as snowfall and eyes the color of aged wine, sat poised at the edge of the clearing.
No ordinary rabbit.
A familiar.
Evelyn's familiar.
The creature looked at me with eyes that seemed to hold a century's worth of sorrow and wisdom. 'If you wish, I can tell you,' it said, each word laced with an unnatural calm.
I hesitated, the spear's tip wavering before dipping toward the ground. The silent forest around us felt suspended in time, holding its breath. This was no trick of ordinary magic; this was an invitation, a doorway cracked open with the promise of a story.
"Tell me," I whispered, the word tasting of iron and resolve. The rabbit's eyes glistened, reflecting the faint light filtering through the canopy, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of gratitude—or was it regret?
It nodded, the gesture impossibly human, and I felt a chill wind sweep through the clearing as if the village itself shuddered at what was to come.