"For the one with no soul."
(inscription at the base of Eugard Vollachia's statue in the Imperial Capital of Lupugana)
Chapter 8: For Every Rose, a Thorn
"Witch," the word with many meanings.
Ask anyone on the street and they'd likely single out the Witch, she who devoured the world. The fearless — and stupid — would bring up the Witch Cult, the madmen who were never supposed to be mentioned.
To most, a "witch" was just anyone with power beyond their understanding. Did crops suddenly go bad? A witch's doing. That coin you left out on your nightstand is now missing? Whoops, a witch made it fly away.
At some point, it became too ridiculous to entertain. Watch out for that nice lady that sells cheap vegetables, she has to be a witch! And careful around those triplets who look a little too identical, don't you know they're warlocks?
Witch, witch, witch. Every last one of them. Throw a rock into a crowd and you'll hit four witches. Walk into a store and you'll bump into a witch. This witching business was serious, especially if there were so many around.
Thankfully, though, this witching business was very easy. People forgot about a witch that grew vegetables with her mind if they found out about one that could do something even more amazing, like bend metal without touching it. Just like that, there was a new witch-of-the-week, and people could hardly get enough of these "fearsome" and "malevolent" arcane practitioners of the dark arts.
Vollachia had its fair share of witches, but here, in Faradar, there was only one who could flaunt that title — Spiegel, the Evil Eye of Echoes. Even her title was made to intimidate, and she was so proud of herself for coming up with it. Also, alliteration amused her.
Faradar had its fair share of witches over the years, but none matched Spiegel. She remembered being looked at strangely for her miraculous survival when the town was burned decades ago, but that was nothing special. And the other Tribesmen shied away from her, doing their best to avoid her home…although, to be fair, she didn't much like leaving it. Even when she set up a store in the front of her home — going through the trouble of cleaning up and all — very few people came in. That was a real shame, especially after all the trouble she went through to decorate…and Spiegel doubted she would ever have a stroke of genius like the one that came to her when she named the store.
The sign outside read "Be-Witching." She was still waiting for some literary genius to drop by and applaud her for that one.
Now, Spiegel mostly stuck to her store, sometimes dropping by to give the Tribe elders a big scare and talk with some hollows.
Actually, speaking of hollows…
"Sp~ie~gel~," a haunting voice called out from right behind her, almost whispering in her ear. "Sp~ie~gel~," it droned on, and she felt an incredibly faint touch on her shoulder.
"What do you want?" she asked, not bothering to look up from her journal, in which she was drawing a few roses. Spiegel had never been a very artistic woman, but at least her art was passable.
The phantom voice spoke again. "Cli~ent~, afr~aid~, mirr~or~, bre~ak~."
The "witch" nodded absently, smiling ever so slightly. Her hollows did wonders for business, and this one in particular was a particularly efficient little spirit. Sixteen scared customers and counting.
Every good business needed a solid way of promoting itself, and Spiegel's mirror store was no different. Faradar was the most backwater pit in all Vollachia, and selling mirrors was already quite a difficult endeavor. She needed a way to get people interested in her business…so what better way than to send a few spirits to haunt them?
It was no coincidence that most of her mirrors wound up showing horrific, long-dead specters of the past, and after a few such appearances, she had a bit of a following in the little town, strengthening her place as Faradar's one and only true "witch."
Also, sometimes people freaked out when they saw corpses in their mirrors and wound up breaking them. No one else in town sold mirrors…so yet another victory for the witch and her quaint store.
This news of yet another successful haunting put Spiegel in high spirits, and she jotted down the information in her journal. She wasn't afraid of anyone finding it; the last time someone stole her journal, they said it was filled with illegible scribbles. Spiegel had no clue what that meant, but she would not complain if her journal suddenly decided to protect itself from everyone but her. A magical journal was a spectacular tool for a witch to have.
She pointedly overlooked that — sometimes — said journal attempted to speak with her, suddenly writing down what seemed to be instructions on its pages. Following orders from a magic book didn't seem like a good way to pass the time, so she always turned three blind eyes to those mysterious words.
When she was done basking in her small victory over yet another unsuspecting customer, Spiegel glanced up from her journal. Her store was a maze of mirrors, each a different size, all of them — she was proud to admit — reflecting clearly and spectacularly. She cleaned them every night just to show them off, after all.
As her gaze landed on a tall mirror in front of her, she noticed something odd: a speck of crimson, like a bloody cloud hanging over her shoulders. It twisted into itself, as if struggling to take shape, yet a mere heartbeat later, it spoke with a clarity that belied its appearance.
"Hearken, witch," it commanded in a haughty voice Spiegel knew all-too-well. "Thy service is required once more."
Spiegel bowed her head to the amorphous cloud of red. Thanks to her Evil Eye, she could understand — and sometimes command — hollows, but the same went for them, and this one in particular she knew would not tolerate disobedience. She had the scars to prove it. "This one listens," she intoned, almost ritualistically.
The Evil Eye Tribe had long worshiped their own ancestors. They venerated their elders, and the most influential were immortalized with paintings, so they may gaze upon the world even after death. Yet, when these hollows, the souls of the departed, came for aid, most turned away.
Spiegel would not — could not — turn away.
A low hum came from the hollow, but she dared not even think what it could mean. "Mineself notes thy loyalty. Now it must be proven." She awaited the hollow's command, but it remained silent, emitting a faint wheeze-like sound.
"This one will obey," she muttered, hoping the dark specter hadn't turned its attention elsewhere in the middle of their conversation.
A sound like a whip's crack echoed through the store, and the hollow continued, "One of hers is here. A tainted soul, in her grasp…" The hollow broke off, remaining silent for a few moments. "Lead him astray, o' servant mine. He mustn't…uncover us…"
The voice began to fade, but Spiegel attempted to ask one final question. "Excellency…why not kill him?"
The hollow's final words — barely audible — struck her like the vilest insult. "You would…fail…"
The cloud behind her vanished as soon as she blinked, and she was left with a profound loneliness…and a command. No, a commandment.
One of her master's enemies, one of those whose very being had been corrupted by…"her."
Spiegel racked her brain for who that could possibly mean, but in her long service to this invisible creature, she had never figured out the truth. These corrupted entities, however…her master said their souls were withered, torn apart by a power that shouldn't have been theirs.
Every time she met one, they looked…normal. Never in her life could she have expected them to be her master's enemies, but that was probably why she wasn't in charge. Still…she could see the hollows' mark on these people, like dozens of translucent shapes crowding around them.
The hollows despised these people, but her master saw them as true enemies. There was something about them that seemed to unnerve even this particular deathless being.
But her master had ordered her to not kill this one. It was a commandment unlike the previous ones…and she oh so wanted to learn why the great change. It wasn't her place to question, but still…
The door to the store opened, and Spiegel shook herself out of her thoughts upon hearing the doorbell ring. A new customer was here, at last. Surely, her master wouldn't mind if she earned a few coins. Hollows didn't exactly pay very well…if at all.
When she turned to face the door, she found empty air. After a moment of confusion, she looked down, finding at the entrance a young boy, not even into his teens, with pitch-black hair.
The hollows reached out to him, unseen by all save for her, drawn to his tainted soul.
Subaru was rightfully skeptical about talking to someone who called herself a "witch."
Most of the time, that was a pretty clear-cut sign that the person was, in fact, the kind of fellow you wanted to stay very far away from. Nine times out of ten, said witch was likely some horribly-inhuman monster that fed on souls or something. Subaru wasn't keen on gambling his life with a ten-percent chance of winning. It was kind of his only life, and he was very protective of it.
The locals had kindly pointed him to the witch's residence, a house-turned-store with a sign outside that he couldn't even read. He caught at least one villager looking at it and chuckling though, so maybe it was funny. Who knows.
He had two jobs to do, and both were equally important. He would need to ask the witch about Palladio's jacket and its writing — hoping that she had a lead on its origins — while also relaying Palladio's message and finding out about the festival deaths he mentioned.
Come on, he thought to himself. You can do it. You know more about witches than anyone in this country, maybe even in this world! If anyone can negotiate with a practitioner of dark magic, it's Natsuki Subaru, prodigy of the Natsuki family!
Operation: Don't Get Killed By The Witch…begin!
With the most determined stride he could muster, Subaru approached the store's door and opened it, sauntering inside as he puffed out his chest. His quest had brought him here, to the witch's lair, and now he would need to use his wits to find a way home!
The first thing he noticed in the store was the mirrors. Countless mirrors, each spotless, adorned every centimeter of the store. Large mirrors the size of a person hung on the walls, while smaller, handheld ones were lined up on display cases. Each had a sign near it, likely with its price.
At the center, near a small metallic fireplace, was a semi-circular desk, behind which sat…the witch. She was a slender and ancient woman — in her middle years, more or less — with a veil of graying purple hair covering her face, and wearing a scarlet kimono. She froze when he entered, and it took her a moment to look down at him. Once she did, Subaru fought the urge to shiver under the witch's gaze…until she sneered.
"He's the one?" she muttered, loudly enough for Subaru to pick up on.
Subaru remained quiet for a second, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the witch cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Welcome to Be-Witching," she recited as if from memory, "where our prices will haunt you. Hand mirrors up to ten gold coins, and large ones up to fifty." A pause, then, "We take no responsibility for any strange things you might see in the mirrors, and if you have any complaints, bring them up with the store owner before contacting anyone else."
Silence. Subaru was unsure how to respond to a witch merchant, but she spoke up first. "You don't look like you've got money, kid. Scram. You'll scare off my customers."
Subaru frowned and looked around. "Customers?"
"Yeah, funny. Listen, I have a record of seven customers at once, alright? You're not a customer if you don't pay."
He thought about how to proceed for a moment, but when the witch stood from her desk with a sigh, he immediately blurted out, "Palladio Manesque sent me!"
The witch, behind her veil of hair, raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"You don't know him?"
"Kid, I live in Faradar, the place where the news goes to die. The world could end tomorrow and I'd be the last to find out."
That complicated matters. Still, he continued, "Palladio is some royal guy? Tall, sounds like he has a cold? Dresses funny?"
The witch brought a finger to her chin. "Still no clue."
"No one likes him?"
"Oh, that freak? What's he want?"
Subaru allowed himself a diminutive smile, having accomplished one step of his mission. "He says he wants to know about some people that died in a festival."
Out of nowhere, the witch's face twisted into a frown. "Huh? That's ancient news. Everyone knows it was that Me—, wait, no…" She trailed off, looking at a mirror. "I mean, no one knows why it happened. Some bunch of villagers dropped dead from one moment to the next." She shrugged. "I'm really not the best person to ask."
"But you said everyone knew…"
"What? No, I didn't."
Subaru tilted his head and pondered his dilemma. This…was not how he envisioned a battle of wits against a dark mage. "Alright…then, Palladio has a message for you."
"Loose."
"What?"
"Go ahead. Say it."
Silence settled in the store as Subaru began to consider that maybe this "witch" was just…a tiny bit unconventional…
He repeated Palladio's message. "Palladio intends to…cleanse Melinda's sin? Something like that. And he wants your help for it."
That finally got a reaction. "Ah…is that what he said?" The witch faced him, narrowing her eyes and whispering to herself. "If that's what he wants…useful, yes…he could help…"
"Oh, and um—"
"Quiet, boy," she chastised him scornfully. "Can't you see I'm talking here?"
Subaru looked down. "Sorry…"
The witch spoke to herself again, but this time he could not hear her. She sounded like she was in a rather intense argument, but when she looked at him again, a comfortable smile sat on her face. "Tell Palladio I'm with him…and allow me to rescind my previous statement. The murderer is Melty Pristis. She's dangerous, and I don't know where she is…but there's one who knows. A boy with green hair, a Kararagian."
Tiga was friends with a murderer? Huh. Great friend Subaru had there. Still, he refrained from letting the witch know he had met Tiga before, and instead just said, "Is there…anyone else who knows?"
"Her brother, but he'll bash your skull in before ever talking to you, so tough luck there."
Subaru nodded, repeating the words to himself in a whisper. Palladio couldn't complain about this. Finally, he asked, "Also…do you happen to know anything about the Emperor's coat?"
"The who's what?"
"The Emperor's coat. It's kinda blue…and it has these weird golden lines on it?"
"Kid, you're preaching to the snow. I have no clue what you're talking ab—"
"It's ancient writing?" he added, his voice's pitch going higher than he'd have liked.
The witch looked to the ceiling and sighed loudly. "You couldn't start with that? Yeah, I know about ancient writing. I can…" She tilted her head, listening for something. "Yes…I can try to translate it, if you get me the text."
Subaru beamed, and internally laughed as loud as he could. "No, no, I don't need it translated! Do you know anyone who can write it? Or anyone who'd know? Or where it came from? Or—"
"Woah, woah," she silenced him by raising her hands. "Too much, too quick. I hear the Stargazers know about it." She lowered her voice. "The ones in the capital, mind you. The others couldn't tell a rock from a feather."
Stargazers…Subaru was supposed to be one, at any rate. At least he had the "ancient writing" down. "Do you know of any way to contact them? Or…anyone else who can get to them?"
The witch thought about it. "Well…don't let anyone know you heard it from me, but Erzula Blaith — the 'Seventh Color' — has studied Stargazers extensively. Her husband ran this town."
Every word she said, Subaru noted with extreme care. These were far more answers than he had expected, and with so many leads, he was all but guaranteed a way home! All he needed was to get in touch with a "fellow" Stargazer, or with that Erzula woman, and he was probably set!
Before he forgot, though, he asked one final question. "Where did you get that kimono?"
The witch pointed at herself. "This? It's Kararagian. You can get one when the merchants drop by—"
"Really!?"
"—in about two years."
"Oh…"
"Tell me about it. I couldn't even get a purple one. Red is not my color…"
Subaru nodded absentmindedly, then bowed. "Thank you for your help! I appreciate it a lot! Thank you and bye!"
As he turned to leave, the witch spoke up. "Wait. You owe me."
He chuckled nervously and gave her a weak thumbs-up. "Well…you see…I'm not only unemployed, but broke beyond compare…"
"Yeah, yeah," the witch assented. "Just my luck that only the broke ones come into my store…but I don't need money from you." She held up a finger and walked over to her desk, pulling open drawers and rummaging around. After an uncomfortably long silence, she pulled out a thick tree branch adorned with various small gems of differing colors. It was as long as a forearm, and seemed to almost glow. "I'm looking for someone," she explained, walking over to Subaru, "and I would ask your help in finding her."
She handed Subaru the branch, and he looked it over. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like there were faces inside the gems. "Who…are you looking for?"
"I'm not sure," the witch admitted. "Ask around. She's a very dear friend of a friend…and, you see, she's missing."
"Oh, no…"
"Indeed. Now, when you find her, break the branch's gems. All of them, as quickly as you can. That's all you need to do."
"And if I don't find—"
"You will."
Her unsettling grin did not leave much room for debate, so Subaru bowed his head again, muttered his thanks, and walked out, feeling the witch's gaze linger on him.
Lutka's life had been one of service.
Back with her people, most of whom resided in the sprawling Buddheim Jungle, she had been granted the prestigious assignment of protecting the local wildlife, most of which ignored her. Something about her Woodkin heritage gave her that advantage, one she considered wholly natural.
Most of the time, her days were quiet and long. She could not interfere in nature's affairs, and as such merely observed them from afar. Only in the luckiest days did she come across other people — mainly fellow guardians of the jungle, who never so much as looked at her — like those Sudrak huntresses.
Her people and the Sudraks long held animosity toward each other. The Woodkin protected nature, but the Sudraks reveled in killing. Their war for Buddheim often devolved into vengeful murders, rarely seeing any large-scale fighting. Even then, the Sudraks were minor annoyances compared to the various mabeasts that popped out of nowhere. They seemed to multiply faster than anyone could eradicate them, and many of Lutka's kinsmen fell attempting to cull them.
Lutka spent years in that jungle, helping her people defend unquestioned traditions that no one but them valued. In the name of tradition, she had idled away the years doing nothing, ignorant of the world beyond her jungle.
She could remember the day the outside world intruded in Buddheim as if it had happened yesterday. A legion of Imperial soldiers cut their way through the trees, slaughtering everything in their path. The Woodkin fought back, but they were antiquated, predictable. The Empire carved a way through them with ease, driving the few survivors into the depths of the jungle.
Lutka hid with them, and even aided them as they tried to plot a counterattack. But their tactics were old, and their tools ancient. The Woodkin had clung so tightly to tradition that they overlooked the power awaiting them beyond the jungle.
Lutka had seen the Empire's soldiers firsthand, she had slain a few of them, and she admired everything about them. Their armor was new, their weapons cared for, their strategies innovative. The Woodkin were a relic of the past, hidden in Buddheim since the Witch of Envy devoured the world, but the Empire moved on without them. Vollachia had been content to ignore them for centuries, but now its patience had run out, and the Woodkin stood in the Empire's way, refusing to move.
Lutka made a decision, then. She wasn't going to die in the name of tradition. Without any regrets, she led the Empire to her people's encampment. Clad in their crimson armor, wielding their brand-new swords, she erased every trace of the Woodkin from Buddheim Jungle, one slash at a time.
The Empire thanked her for her collaboration, paying her with kind words and congratulations, before immediately ordering her death. She did not begrudge the soldiers that decision. It was the smartest thing to do. Her admiration for the Empire's fancy weapons did not diminish in the slightest as she turned them against the soldiers, cutting their numbers in half before vanishing into the jungle she knew so well.
Vollachia was a whole new world for Lutka, and every new sight brought her a sense of wonder she could hardly imagine back in her tree-dwelling days. Where her days had been monotonous and mind-numbingly dull, now they burst with exciting new opportunities. She hunted down merchant caravans, relishing in the challenge of robbing them blind. She joined with a bandit gang and assaulted a military camp, switching sides in the middle of the battle for fun. Then she got sent to prison…and she escaped — very easily, mind you.
The once-ignorant Woodkin was well on her way to breaking into Ginunhive — having stopped in Glarasia to examine their magnificent weapons and maybe "acquire" a few dishonestly — when she met Palladio Manesque.
Palladio was a fool, which already made him unbearable, but he was also idealistic, which turned him into the exact kind of person Lutka despised. That day, she — and half the population of Glarasia — watched as the Emperor's son used his blade of sunlight to cut a loaf of bread until it was "properly scorched" (in his own words).
That was when Lutka decided: she just had to kill this man.
That same night, after stealing a nice sword that caught her eye, she broke into the inn that was hosting the prince's entourage. A few soldiers with Manesque's azure uniforms stood against her, but they proved inconsequential. Like back in Buddheim, she single-handedly cut a path to her goal.
That night, Palladio Manesque — a young man not even out of his teens — was her target, and she found herself facing him in his room just an hour after ripping through his soldiers. The prince, to his credit, did not beg for his life.
Indeed, he hardly noticed her, instead sitting on his desk and reading some book.
She swooped in to separate his head from his shoulders, but something caught her swords mid-swing. When she stepped back to reassess her foe, she found another Woodkin, one of her people, standing between her and the prince.
Her rival matched her movements perfectly, and Lutka contemplated escaping more than once, but she persisted, fighting against a remnant of her past that she had thought extinct.
She won, of course. Gravely wounded, with amber blood pouring from every cut she'd sustained, Lutka finished off her enemy…and immediately afterwards, she finished off Palladio Manesque, who did not spare her a single glance as she drove a sword through his chest.
It took her a few hours to question why the heir went down so easily, a question that was answered the moment she walked outside Glarasia and found Manesque's soldiers waiting for her, with three identical Palladios laughing among themselves as their army surrounded the beaten Lutka.
One of the soldiers, hidden behind his armor, demanded that she surrender and join them. When she asked why she would ever do that, the soldier merely answered that she could never kill all of them.
Lutka agreed. She had no desire to die after only a few short years of freedom, and House Manesque seemed as good as any.
As the army took her away, the masked soldier from earlier asked her if she would die for him.
She never answered that question, even after realizing the soldier had been Palladio from the beginning.
The wooden houses of Faradar reminded Lutka of her home in the jungle.
She barely paid them any heed, however. There was no reason for her to remember the past she buried. All that mattered was the now.
Leaving her lord behind, she scaled one of Faradar's houses, catching sight of the person tailing her. He was almost a block away, intent on using the roofs to escape as well. Good. That made things easier.
Like a graceful bird of prey, she soared over the streets of the town, skipping from one roof to the next. Few looked up at her, and fewer still understood what they were seeing.
Years of living in Buddheim had taught her techniques that no outside would ever understand. They saw their surroundings as tools, but to Lutka, every splinter of wood was an extension of herself.
Her target ducked into alleys and buildings, changing direction on a whim, keeping her guessing where he would go next. Lutka knew, however. She had experience hunting Sudraks, and compared to them, some low-life from Faradar was as good as caught.
Carefully, she felt for the hidden knives in her sleeves, debating whether or not to wield them. She decided against it. Palladio wanted this person alive, and she could not risk accidentally slipping up and coming back with a corpse. She'd fight unarmed.
Good. That made it more fun.
Her target slipped through a window, and Lutka halted, waiting to see where he would run to. A few seconds passed, and after getting no sight of him, she raced to the building and threw herself through the same window.
Inside, she found a bedroom, decorated sparsely with a few books and notes. A luxurious bed took up most of the room, and Lutka made sure to look underneath it just in case. Next, she pried open the wardrobe, finding just a few old coats and what not. Someone wealthy lived here…or at least as close to wealthy as one could get in Faradar. Anywhere else in the Empire, this would be a poor man's abode.
As she turned to the door, she found it closed tightly, with its lock untouched. So her target didn't use the door…so where could he…
She turned to the wardrobe again, noticing the crucial detail she had overlooked: it had been moved forward, leaving enough space for someone small to cram themselves behind it. In the blink of an eye, she stepped toward it, reaching out to pull the wardrobe aside and catch her target, and—
"El Goa!"
The world turned orange.
Searing whips of fire engulfed Lutka as flame swallowed the room, pushing her out the window with enough force to slam her against the building opposite to it. If her bones weren't made of wood, she would have snapped half of them with that impact, and the other half as soon as she landed on the dirt below with a thump.
When she stood with difficulty, she noted her injuries: a badly scorched right arm — still functional — along with a completely ruined uniform, splinters of wood in her entire body, and — most unfortunate — a missing left sleeve, which meant the three knives she'd hidden there were lost as well.
The splinters wouldn't be an issue. Her whole body was wood, a few more bits of it would hardly inconvenience her. Her fire damage was extensive, though. If that blast caught her any closer to the wardrobe, it would have severed her right arm completely and lit her on fire, which would mean certain death.
Her target was much smarter than she'd given him credit for.
Another thump drew her attention, and she saw her target land in front of her, a curved blade on his hand. He was a young man, likely in his mid-teens, with sand-colored hair and a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce her soul. His skin was dark, eliciting a mild spark of panic in Lutka's mind as she recalled her Sudrak enemies, but the boy wore none of their distinctive tattoos. Indeed, aside from his ridiculous cropped outfit — that she could swear she saw before in some red-light district — what most stood out were his bandaged hands. He was the same height as Lutka, which at least put them on even ground there…quite literally.
Feeling no joy, Lutka chuckled. Her target was smarter than she'd expected…but far from smart enough to flee.
The young man readied his sword, which was longer than his arm, holding its tip to Lutka as a warning. He mumbled something inaudible, and Lutka made no attempt to understand him.
She struck first, propelling herself sideways by kicking the ground, moving out of range of his sword. They were in an alley between two buildings, which meant the man's long blade was a disadvantage. Still, his fire magic — or whatever his first attack had been — was an immense danger.
He swung his blade with precise movements, and she kept her distance, observing. His movements were solid, and his skill decent enough, but he was stiff, clearly unsure of his own skill. He was repeating moves he'd seen in the past, not using his own. A great mistake.
Lutka stepped in and prompted him to swing again. The blade came for her neck — good, no hesitation there — but it was predictable. She slapped the back of her left hand against the sword's flat side, knocking it higher than her head and leaving the man wide open. He tried to move away, but she put her right hand into an open palm and thrust it at the top of his stomach, right below his ribs.
The strike landed, leaving him reeling, gasping for air. Lutka closed the distance, using the same palm to strike at his neck, but he twisted away, escaping by a hair. As she angled herself to attack once more, he brought his hand to her chest in a sweeping motion, chanting, "Goa!"
Lutka was too slow. The fireball struck her right on the left side of her chest, knocking her back with the same potency as the explosion from earlier while cutting clean through her. The man moved away while she clutched at her chest, feeling the fist-sized hole now present there.
It was a good thing Woodkin had no hearts — literally — or she would have been in real trouble. Still…a hole in her chest wasn't something she could shrug off. She'd need a good while to recover from that.
The young man struck with his sword, aiming straight for her neck. A normal sword would have trouble hurting her, given her skin was literally made of wood, but with the man's command of magic, he might be able to cleave right through her.
Now that, she couldn't allow.
As the blade swung toward her in a horizontal arc, Lutka charged in, ducking and striking with her shoulder, knocking the man off-balance for a moment. He stumbled back, immediately working on fixing his posture, but she put her hands together, locking her fingers, and hit his knee sideways, forcing him to spread his legs and lose his posture yet again. The man fell ever-so-slightly, but that proved enough for Lutka to bring her still-locked hands up and strike him on the cheek, stunning him.
In the split-second that followed, she grabbed hold of his hair and — making sure to not accidentally hurt him too much — promptly kneed him in the nose.
That hit landed the man on the floor, and he clutched at his face in pain, dropping his sword. Lutka grabbed hold of it, clutching its handle with her good hand, and stepped over to the young man. Once close enough, she put her foot over his neck and stepped down, not hard enough to kill him…but hard enough to choke him out.
If Palladio had questions for this scum, she'd see that he got to ask them.
The witch's words left Subaru with more questions than answers…but at least he got the answers he was looking for.
Palladio was looking for someone very dangerous, and from what little Subaru knew of the nobleman, he was unlikely to have a good motive for it. If it was up to Subaru, he would have done something to stop it…but what could he even do?
As he walked back to the town square he had been earlier when Palladio sent him on this errand, the thought of stopping him began to grow into a real goal. Palladio had sent him for a reason, so maybe he was trying to stay hidden. If he was so important — as he liked to boast he was — then surely there was someone out there who was opposing him, and maybe he was hiding from them.
Criff and Gaoran didn't seem to get along very well with Palladio, so they might know more. Additionally, Palladio had forced Subaru to be quiet about his "mission," so he clearly didn't want word of it to spread. There had to be something he could use there.
The witch had mentioned Tiga, saying he knew about this person Palladio was looking for. Maybe if Subaru asked Tiga about it…
Yes, that could work. Subaru could ask him, then reveal what he learned from the witch. With his help, Tiga could certainly mess with Palladio's evil plan!
Subaru picked up his pace, walking briskly down the winding labyrinthine streets as his plan solidified. Tiga's knowledge of this town would be invaluable, and if he knew this person Palladio was after, he and Subaru could get to her before Palladio even figured out what they were doing!
It was a master plan worthy of the greatest strategists the world had ever known! Well, the old world, Earth. Subaru wasn't too sure about this world just yet, but hopefully he wouldn't stick around long enough to know!
Besides, he was doing a little bit of good while finding a way out! It was a win-win for everyone involved!
The town square was far closer than he remembered, and Subaru arrived in just a few minutes of walking (quickly, mind you). There were far more people here than he had seen before, mainly adults, most of whom weren't even human.
He couldn't afford to stop and take in the sight, though. He had a mission to undertake!
Pushing through the crowd, he caught snippets of the various conversations that drowned out every other sound in the town.
"...an explosion in the governor's home…"
"...that fool Salum. We all knew he would…"
"...isn't Lord Peixit handling this? Where is he when we need…"
The words held very little meaning to Subaru, who was unerringly focused on his newfound "mission." An explosion? Sure, whatever. Someone else could deal with that. For now, though, Subaru had his sights set on a far grander goal: getting home at last!
…and stopping Palladio from carrying out his evil plan, whatever it may be!
At last, a hand reached out from the crowd and grabbed Subaru by the sleeve. He turned, finding Tiga there, who was looking at him like Subaru had just come back from a refreshing swim in the local sewer.
"Hey, you're back," he chuckled, half-smiling half-grimacing. "Had fun meeting the witch?"
Subaru grinned. "Yeah! And, hey, listen—"
"Good, good," Tiga interjected, nodding vigorously, "and while we're on the topic, have you seen my evil-looking friend anywhere? The guy with the bandaged hands?"
"Uh…no, but I—"
"Shame, shame. Looks like I'm gonna have to find him myself, then. Mind coming with? We'll yell his name at every corner and hope he shows up."
"Sure, I'll help, but you have to—"
Tiga offered a thumbs-up. "Splendid. We'll start right now. C'mon."
Before he could begin to leave, Subaru managed to finally ask, "Do you know anyone called Melty?"
Tiga halted, looking Subaru in the eyes with a suddenly-grave expression. He seemed at a loss for words until he muttered, "Did the witch tell you…?"
Subaru shook his head. "That's not—, listen, Palladio wants to find her. I want to stop him, but I need your help for—"
"My help?" Tiga's eyes widened as if Subaru had told him to go mine for emeralds in a mountain. "I mean, I can try, but Salum is the one you want! I can't hold my own in a fight, and if he found out I was doing all this without checking in with him…" He trailed off, frowning, before looking to the distance. "Is that why you disappeared?" he asked nobody in particular.
Subaru opened his mouth to say more, but Tiga raised his hand to silence him. "Help me find Salum. Now. He'll know what to do…if he isn't doing it already."
With a nod and a thumbs-up, Subaru offered his support, adding a confident, "You can count on me."
Tiga didn't seem to register the words, instead gazing into the distant horizon, with a scowl resting on his face.
AN: Welcome to Be-Witching, where our prices will haunt you. We take no responsibility for any strange things you might see in the mirrors, and if you have any complaints, bring them up with the store owner before contacting anyone else.
Hello all!
The stage is set, and this story's first confrontation will finally begin! Palladio's mind-bending manipulations will be challenged at last. Can Faradar's three stooges (Subaru, Tiga, and Tiga's yet-to-debut Hat) put an end to the prince's political campaigning? Or will he manage to flood Vollachian Facebook with minion memes to gain the popular vote?
Find out in Chapter 9: Clair De Soleil!
(And don't forget: no feeding the hollows...)
