How could a creature whose mind was filled solely with blood and mangled flesh possibly communicate with others?
Yet now, the stark reality confronted Balros, sending a chill down the spine of this seasoned demon hunter.
He felt an urgent compulsion to locate the demon and its sorceress.
Such thoughts echoed in Balros's mind, propelling him to quicken his pace as he followed the footprints in the snow.
...
"My lord, I implore you, I am not a witch; this is merely a bit of ointment. Without it, I would struggle to stand while cooking in the morning!"
On the streets of Byronwell, a group of witch hunters surrounded the road near the docks. Their leader sat upon a stone chair, studying a small jar in his hands. Before him knelt a gray-haired herbalist, brutally pulled from her home and roughly thrown to the ground, her frail hands struggling to push herself upright.
"I beg you, my lord, take my money; just spare me…"
Crack!
The jar of herbs smashed violently against the ground beside the old woman, splattering green ointment everywhere.
"This is a product of black magic; the scriptures of the divine do not instruct how to create such wicked concoctions."
The witch hunter gazed down upon the elderly woman with palpable disdain.
"But my lord, this is truly just a herbal balm…"
Creak…
The sound of a drawn crossbow string sliced through the air as the elderly woman turned to find a witch hunter aiming a crossbow at her, rendering her speechless with terror.
To shift the blame onto others under the pretense of ignorance.
This phrase did not originate from the scriptures but rather depicted the sins of humanity in the Book of Revelation.
"Witches are as treacherous as sorcerers; they employ sweet talk to beguile the hearts of men, spreading rumors among the common folk, and even attempt to sway kings to incite war. The previous defeat in our war against the southern mongrels is entirely due to scoundrels like you."
The witch hunter rose and began to pace, his words filled with righteous indignation, akin to a hero on a quest to slay dragons. His eyes roamed over the sea of spectators, who quickly averted their gaze and bowed their heads, scuttling away, many of whom were regulars seeking remedies from the old woman.
"I am not… I…"
The old woman on the ground seemed to wish to say more, but was callously interrupted by the witch hunter.
"Dance for us, old hag…"
"Hmm? But my lord, my legs…"
"If you cannot hear, I will not repeat myself."
Seeing the malicious delight on the witch hunter's face, the old woman understood that they merely sought to amuse themselves at her expense.
All she could do was hope that they would show her mercy once their madness subsided.
Thus, she labored to push herself up, shuffling her stiff legs to begin dancing on the street, all the while forcing a smile upon her weary face.
Heh heh heh…
The witch hunters exchanged whispers amongst themselves, regarding her performance as no different from a cat teasing a caught mouse; their various mad antics had led their moral compasses to disintegrate.
Thud!
Ultimately, the old woman collapsed once more, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, utterly unable to rise again.
"N-No… I cannot, I-I can no longer dance."
"Is that so…"
The witch hunter before her stood up.
"Engaging in black magic, desecrating the teachings of the divine, yet it appears you remain blissfully unaware…"
Upon hearing this, the old woman had just begun to exhale in relief when the witch hunter unsheathed his sword from his waist.
"Then I shall sever your legs, ensuring you are forever distanced from black magic."
Ah!
Bang!
With a scream, a fireball struck the witch hunter, sending his charred body staggering back before collapsing helplessly.
Instantly, the crowd erupted into screams, while the remaining witch hunters turned their attention toward the dock, where two hooded figures appeared.
"It's a witch!"
"Desecrators! Call for reinforcements!"
...
"Damn it, Riley, what are you doing?"
Manofos removed his hood, chanting a spell to conjure an invisible wall that blocked the witch hunters, while questioning his companion beside him.
"Your actions may ruin our entire plan!"
"I know, but… never mind, it's my fault. You hurry and board the ship; I'll join you shortly."
Seeing the situation deteriorate, the other individual also removed his hood, a surge of light enveloping his hands as a bolt of lightning erupted forth, knocking the nearest witch hunter to the ground.
"Cursed be, we should've left earlier! It's all your fault for insisting on bringing this and that, wasting our precious time."
As he spoke, Manofos turned and ran towards the dock, but in an instant, a crossbow bolt struck his neck, and he collapsed without even a sound.
"Manofos!"
Riley had just turned back when the clattering of armor echoed through the square, as a battalion of soldiers emerged from all corners of the dock, clad in armor and wielding crossbows and swords.
"Secure the docks! No ships are to set sail!"
"Slay the desecrators! We shall purify the northern lands!"
Clatter…
Amidst the chaos at the dock, several ships began to converge, forming a blockade. Archers armed with crossbows lined the decks, and barrels of burning oil stood ready; if any vessel tried to set sail, it would surely be incinerated before it had traveled far, sinking into the depths.
I… may have truly made a grave mistake.
With that thought, Riley began to retreat, weary from dodging the incoming crossbow bolts.
Yet alas, the throng around her was overwhelming; even as a formidable sorceress, she could scarcely mount an effective counterattack in such a brief span of time.
The witch hunters and soldiers recognized this as well, halting their fire; it appeared they intended to capture her alive.
Just then, Riley's gaze fell upon the ground beneath her, noticing a sewer outlet at least twenty feet below.
If she could escape into the sewers, perhaps there might still be a glimmer of hope.
But… it was far too high.
Even if she employed magic to cushion her fall, she would likely break a leg.
Nonetheless… there was no other choice now.
If she failed, Riley resolved to take her own life with the dagger she clutched.
If she fell into the hands of those witch hunters, her fate would be worse than death.
With that thought, Riley leaped with all her might, closing her eyes as she plunged downwards, feeling her body grow lighter, the wind rushing past her ears, even forgetting the spell to soften her fall.
This is it; perhaps I won't have to end my own life, but I might break my neck instead…
With her eyes shut, Riley braced for impact.
It was only when a soft, squishy voice broke the silence that she slowly opened her eyes.
"Are… are you alright?"
A face as round as a wagon wheel, adorned with sharp fangs and smeared with streaks of blood, crowned by two goat-like horns.
It was a demon…
Could it be true what those witch hunters said? That witches and sorcerers, upon death, descend into the abyss to become the food of demons?