Mirabelle stood dumbfounded at the scene before her.
Her lips were parched.
Her head was white as a sheet.
Her heart was pounding until it hurt.
His eyes never left the skull.
That... that's him?
That skeleton was his father?
A capital criminal?
He tried to hide a witch?
No way.
Could there be a misunderstanding?
Mirabelle remembers the day as if it were yesterday. It was here, months ago, that he had cast her out. She couldn't believe that such a man had died a criminal.
He had sold himself and survived on his own.
Mirabelle's head is spinning.
This whole situation is confusing.
Just then, Karami, who had been watching from the sidelines, rubbed her chin and spoke her thoughts in a serious voice.
"Hmm, I think I have the story straight: the tail was stepped on, and the Templars were alerted to Miss Mirabelle's presence."
Witches are matrilineal.
When the couple realized they had a daughter, the Templars and clergy chased them to the city.
"Thinking that being with the witch might kill him, the man sold Miss Mirabelle to a slave trader, hoping to make a quick buck."
The Templars dropped the witch, but they had already acted together before. So the Templars came to the man.
"The Templars came to this man and told him that he would be spared if he would give up Miss Mirabelle, but he could not, for by that time she had been sold into slavery and traveled outside the city."
Karami's voice flows like water in my ears.
"But the Templars thought he was hiding it on purpose, because it was his daughter, and who would think of a man selling his daughter into slavery?"
Such a... man?
"In the end, he couldn't prove his innocence, and he was executed, a self-inflicted wound. How ridiculous is that?"
Yes, it is. Karami's analysis is right a hundred times over. The man abandoned himself and died.
"Haha...."
Mirabelle smiles.
But it's an awkward laugh.
It's like her mouth is twitching, not smiling.
The man who sold her was executed and became a spectacle. It's a refreshing story. You can be liberated with a feeling of relief.
But for some reason, it doesn't feel good.
Is it because the object of my revenge is gone, as Colton once warned me?
It's subtly different.
My chest feels tight.
Why is this?
I feel like I'm missing something important.
"What did Dad look like last?
Pale complexion, like a man haunted by ghosts.
With rough hands, he handed himself over to the slave traders.
His eyes were like....
"...."
I don't remember much.
"I went to all this trouble to get revenge, and now I'm lying here, dead in peace. You're a selfish man to the end. But that's okay, there's a magic we've been taught, isn't there?"
Magic that interferes with the soul.
With that, you can get the revenge you deserve.
Finishing the job with your own hands would solve this frustrating conundrum. Clearly.
"Let's start with the girl next to you. She died unjustly, so you might as well let go of that grudge."
Mirabelle nodded slowly, her head as heavy as stone, and moved her Celestial Oath toward the skull. She manipulates her magic, casts her spells.
But nothing changes.
"Perhaps the passage of time has worn down its soul, or perhaps it has left this world because it has no use for life."
Normally, Mirabelle would have wondered how her master knew so much about her, but her thoughts were not there right now.
It was the man's turn next.
Anxiety echoed in her chest again and again, wondering what if he, like the girl, had no spirit.
"Miss Mirabelle. Let's hear it from his own mouth. Why he abandoned himself."
Mirabelle's wand twitched uneasily, moving to the side.
And then, once again, she casts her spell.
Saaaaa....
This time there is a change.
A blast of pure white light hits the dawn square.
Skulls gleam.
A white mist rises and falls, drifting to the ground like smoke.
Smoke builds and builds.
The blurry shapes became clearer and clearer.
"Ah...."
Mirabelle's sobs mingled with the sound of the smoke.
It was a man.
A middle-aged man with a gentle face.
As he slowly moved his head to look around, Mirabelle called out in a low voice.
"Dad...?"
The man's name was Herold.
His gaze snaps to Mirabelle in response to the sound. Her eyes locked with Mirabelle's, and Herold's eyes widened in alarm.
"M-Mirabelle...? Is that really Mirabelle? That can't be right, she must have been sold to a slave trader...?"
Herold looked around in confusion. His complexion turns pale as he realizes where he is. Enough to recognize the ghost despite its whiteness.
"You, you...!"
Herold stomped so hard he thought he heard a thump, thump, thump.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here, can't you just go?!"
Herold tried to push Mirabelle away. But his hands simply pass through Mirabelle's body, unable to make any impact.
After trying again and again to no avail, Herold looks down at his translucent hand.
"What is this...?"
Karami interrupted.
"You're dead, Mr. Herold. What you are now is an illusion created by your soul."
"Da, who are you, and what is my name?"
"My name is Karami, the slave trader. I am the owner of Miss Mirabelle."
"Slave trader? Mirabelle's owner? I'm... dead?"
Harold's mind reeled from the sudden onslaught of information, but only for a moment, for he was in no position to dwell on such trivialities.
"That's not the point, it's not the slave trader I remember, but it could be anyone, as long as it's not a cleric. Mr. Karami, why don't you take Mirabelle and get her out of this city?"
"May I ask why?"
"Because...."
"Is it because Miss Mirabelle is a witch?"
"That, how?!"
Karami shrugged her shoulders without saying a word.
Herold, who had been standing there like his soul was missing, stopped looking back and forth and fell to the ground in front of Karami.
"Please, please, please, please don't tell anyone that this child is a witch! Whatever I can...."
Herold was about to say yes, but he was already dead. All I could do for the living was to tell him to come back as late as possible and say hello.
A slave trader is a self-serving creature.
There is nothing to offer.
It was endless despair.
The square is silent. But the silence was filled with an indescribable pressure. A heavy atmosphere as if the grim reaper would jump out.
A lighthearted laugh rang out, breaking the silence.
"Haha, you needn't worry about that. I'm terribly fond of my slaves, especially one as good as Miss Mirabelle."
"...."
"It's even stranger than that, Mr. Harold sold Miss Mirabelle to a slave trader, and now he's just like any other father worried about his daughter, don't you think, Miss Mirabelle?"
Mirabelle flinched.
She was feeling it, too.
A stabbing sensation of strangeness in her chest.
In a whirlwind of mixed emotions, she gripped the cane tightly. It calmed her a little, though it didn't do much for her now.
"I had no choice... I had no other choice!"
With a venomous yell, Herold sank to the ground and poured out the misery of the day.
"I had to send them as far away as possible. As far out of reach of the rumors of the witch's appearance. But the Templars were after her, and someone had to stall for time...."
"And you, Mr. Herold, were to play that role."
"...Yes, because even if I were to die, Mirabelle must live, but I couldn't send her out on her own, she'd never survive the demons outside the city. I had to find someone to protect her, to take care of her, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find anyone suitable."
"Is that why you chose a slave trader?"
Harold nodded heavily.
"A girl as cute and pretty as Mirabelle is a valuable commodity, and I knew I could guarantee her life, at least."
Herold's judgment was unmistakably correct.
With witch blood in her veins, Mirabelle exudes an air of mystery that cannot be concealed by her class, which, combined with her pretty girl looks, creates an allure that steals the show.
Thanks to this, Mirabelle survived.
From Fraxue, she traveled by carriage to Kalia, the capital of the Kingdom of Traul, a journey that would take several weeks.
She was to be sold at the kingdom's largest slave auction, and she was to be as well-groomed as a noble child.
Her purpose had been accomplished.
By the time she got there, the girl's heart had been torn to shreds.
Karami sneered.
"Handing her over to a slave trader to protect her, such a contradiction, even for me, a slave trader, it's a ridiculous idea."
At that, Herold's head snaps up.
"You don't know the heart of a parent! You don't know the heart of a parent who has to hand over a child to a slave trader, knowing full well that it will be a limb, but hoping that it will live!"
Herold is furious.
Karami's reaction is more of a sour note.
"That's a very touching story, but it doesn't really add to the taste of revenge, does it, Miss Mirabelle?"
Mirabelle did not answer.
She could not answer.
She just stood there, frozen in place like a statue.
This can't be right.
Something is wrong.
Her father sacrificed himself for her?
I need to see for myself.
I won't believe it unless I see it with my own eyes.
Mirabelle brings mystery to the square once again. The magic of reading souls' memories.
Herold's memories play like a movie.
We see the scene from that day.
Herold is being sold to a slave trader, and Mirabelle is crying and reaching for his hand. But her tiny hands flail and never reach.
The movie continues.
The back story we didn't know.
Herold is captured by the knights.
Thrown into a dark dungeon.
His nails are pulled out.
His fingers are broken.
His fingers are broken.
Thrown into a pit full of snakes.
When the torture is complete, he is hanged, and while he is still tenuously conscious, he is snapped alive by the
Jaw.
Karami covered Mirabelle's eyes with her hand.
"Let's stop there, it's not good for your emotions."
A deep bass voice, like the first time they'd heard it together. Mirabelle flicked her cane arm away, and the image faded.
Karami's hands were covered in hot liquid.
Mirabelle watched.
Herold smiled at her, the same smile she'd seen every day as he walked away.
Harold, who hadn't opened his mouth once during the entire torture.
Mirabelle realized.
The story had been hidden.