You were made to farm, and now you're the emperor of an empire?

Chapter 245 Margaret
When Shasta met Margaret, she emerged from that remote village, carrying something in her hands, and the smell of blood seemed even stronger.

"How many did you kill?"

“I don’t remember,” the Blood Witch said.

Another witch said, "Killing too many people will lead to a loss of self."

Margaret ignored her, saying, "I need money to buy things, but nobody will sell them to me."

"Anyone would be afraid of you looking like that."

“They threw stones at me, pitchforks at me, cursed me, and swore at me. All of this happened before I did anything or said anything.”

"Because they can guess your identity—you're not a runaway female slave, a poor peasant woman, a haggard prostitute, or a down-on-her-luck noblewoman; you just entered the village dressed like this, all alone—they'd know who you are at first glance."

“They weren’t afraid of me, they threw stones at me, and they wouldn’t listen to what I wanted or take my money.”

Shasta said with a hint of sadness, "No, they threw stones at you out of fear, just like people instinctively kill a poisonous snake... Nobody wants to be associated with a poisonous snake..."

Margaret said, "We are not vipers."

“That’s right, we’re not venomous snakes,” Shasta repeated.

“We are beasts more terrifying than vipers! We are just like noble knights,” Margaret said. “They dare not provoke noble knights for fear of bringing about their own destruction, but they are not afraid of a witch.”

Shasta said, "This is different."

"It's the same, all the same. I'm stronger than them, stronger than most knights. When knights enter a village to ask for food, no one dares to throw stones at them, but witches bring the exact opposite result. Wrongdoing has its price, and they should have some respect for them—at least I'll pay."

“That’s how witches got their infamy,” Shasta said, feeling a profound sense of powerlessness.

“We need food and water, we have wounded people who need herbal medicine, but we can’t buy those things even if we have the money, because they exclude us from human society. Whose infamy is it? The witches’ or humanity’s?”

“Margaret, but we must find a home… A witch cannot wander like this forever—that’s what you told me before, but now you’ve lost yourself and are becoming more and more like a stranger.”

Margaret quietly placed her hand beside her ear, as if listening to something.

She murmured, "The Netherworld is calling to me. The world will not accept me, so this is my only refuge..."

“No! Margaret! That’s just an illusion! Your teacher said your soul will be lost, you will gain nothing, and you will only become a wandering ghost.”

"Lord Thunder has a misunderstanding about the Netherworld. Her magic is invincible, she has a strong personality, never relies on anything, and firmly believes that she herself is the source of her magic. Precisely because of this, she cannot vaguely sense the existence of the Netherworld like I can. Since the battle of the Holy City, my senses have become increasingly clear..."

Shasta shouted angrily, "Enough! Margaret! Stop! Even a prophet cannot reach that world!"

“I have no more attachment to this world…” Margaret shook her head, “Of course, Shasta, I will accompany you to the very end…”

Shasta refused to say anything more.

The argument is pointless; Margaret is far superior to her.

The two men, carrying their belongings, met up with their companions and distributed the black bread from their cloth bags to everyone.

The bag was stained with blood, but no one said anything.

When the older witches saw the bloodstains on the bag, they all beamed with joy. They had expected this to happen; otherwise, why would they have sent Margaret to find food?

We have to find some fun in this tedious escape journey.

The young witches silently ate their black bread, which was coarse and tasted terrible.

They ate as they walked.

A battle broke out midway with mercenary groups and bounty hunters.

About twenty mercenaries died.

Meanwhile, the witch has gained another injured person.

"They are surrounding us," the wolf-headed witch witnessed firsthand.

Shasta said, "Find the weak point and break through."

Monica said, "Margaret, you can lead the charge, right?"

Margaret nodded without saying a word.

They broke out in the middle of the night.

The fifty-man mercenary group responsible for the encirclement was completely wiped out.

Corpses littered the ground, a scene of bloodshed and cruelty. As dawn broke, the witch, under the cover of darkness, led the wounded to escape ten kilometers away.

They were exhausted, both mentally and physically. They were completely drained and unable to move or even cast a small spell.

Shasta had no choice but to order a rest, leaving Margaret on guard duty until someone else took over an hour later.

At that moment, the wolf-headed witch stared in astonishment at a tiny bird in the sky.

“It’s my bird.” She waved.

The bird indeed landed on her fingertips; it was a little nightingale.

“We’ve fed it before,” Monica said, looking distressed. “Don’t tell us there’s bad news from Cangyue.”

"These aren't the birds I released into Cangyue. These are... for whom again?"

The Warcraft witch squinted her eyes.

She kept many birds that were very close to her, highly intelligent birds that she could use as a place to entrust her soul, but now most of them have died.

She made it return the way it came, flying all the way, her soul residing in it, until she saw a small boat on the riverbank, with a young merchant sitting on it.

She controlled the nightingale to fly back and said to her companions, "It's the boy from the Pereia family."

"Looking for us?"

"Don't let it be a trap."

The wolf-headed witch shook her head and said, "I've checked. There are only about ten people. There's no ambush."

"No ambush... Hmph, let's play along!"

They mustered their strength and crept over.

Half a day later, I saw Morey and his ship.

……

"You looking for us?"

A sudden sound rang in his ears, startling Morey, who then felt a suffocating pressure.

Then, he saw the witch named Monica appear.

They were twenty or thirty meters apart, but she somehow managed to make it impossible for him to breathe.

“Oh dear, Monica, don’t frighten this little guy. He’s one of the few people who still dares to come looking for us,” Gwen said with a smile, following behind Monica.

"Selin has disappeared, supposedly to find the Conqueror's Treasury in Ego. Bah! Nobody believes him! The Prophet knows more about the Treasury than he does; she even retrieved her magic mirror from there. And what are you doing here? Tell me! What kind of scheme are you plotting?!"

Morey pointed to his neck, his face flushed, unable to utter a word.

Monica dispelled the spell, and Morey coughed a few times, "Cough cough cough, I'm looking for you, and the King of the Valley is looking for you too."

"What king? I didn't hear that..."

“Gwen, shut up! Let him keep talking!” Shasta said.

"The King of the Valley will protect you, provided you pay the price..."

"What is the reward?" Shasta asked.

"I don't know, you'll have to talk to him about that."

Edith sneered, "Talk? Is this another trick to lure us there and kill us?"

"no……"

"Kid, you're not lying! But let me tell you, there are plenty of treacherous and despicable things in this world. I can tell with my own eyes that this damn King of the Valley is definitely connected to that bastard Gale, right!"

Morey hesitated, then realized that Edith was right.

"Those who used to be on good terms with us have all turned their backs on us! In the face of power and profit, what's a little trap set on a witch..."

“But the King of the Valley has just fought a war with Lord Gael.” He had to interrupt her.

……

(End of this chapter)