[Do you want to teleport to his house right now?]
Claude rubbed his chin, "Well, not exactly that house. I want to teleport to Blackwood Town."
[Understood.]
It had been three years since he left that place. He wondered how much it had changed, what new faces had taken root, and whether the familiar sights of his childhood still remained.
The mirror's surface rippled before shifting to a bird's-eye view of the town square. It was crowded—too crowded.
A thick mass of people gathered, their eyes fixated on a single wooden cross where a woman was bound, her wrists and ankles tied tight against the rough wood.
Holy knights piled dry kindling at her feet, their silver armor glinting under the dying sunlight.
Claude's smirk faltered. His gaze locked onto the disheveled figure, her short red hair matted with dirt, her body trembling as she thrashed against the restraints.
A witch hunt.
