Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Hena waved to the crowd opposite her.

"Okay, stop hitting."

The punches and kicks stopped.

The six paladins lay in the mud, their faces bruised and swollen, their clothes torn in several places. Lance had a cut on his lip, Gregory had a bruise around his eye, and the youngest was curled up on the ground, his hands covering his head, with a bruised eye peeking out from between his fingers.

The women from Shurasha's gang stood around, panting heavily, some still clutching strips of cloth torn from the paladins. The leader spat on the ground.

"Pah! Liar."

"And yet we treated you all with such sincerity."

"I never expected you guys to..."

She couldn't say that word.

Another woman chimed in.

"Dirty! So dirty!"

She bent down, picked up a shoe from the ground, and threw it at Lance. The sole hit his face with a dull thud.

"Six people, thirteen people, you six, us thirteen. You thought you were fields? We thought you were oxen. And what was the result?"

She paused, then raised her voice by half an octave.

"You yourselves are your own oxen!"

Lance lay on the ground, his face buried in the mud, and didn't move.

Gregory lay on his back, looking at the unbelievably blue sky above him. One eye was so swollen he could barely open it, while the other eye was fixed on a cloud that looked like a sheep.

"Boss."

"Um."

"I think she's right."

Lance didn't reply.

Hena sat on the bench, her legs crossed, her bare feet gleaming white in the sunlight. She looked down at the six puddles of mud on the ground, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth—not a smile, but a knowing "I knew this would happen" expression.

"Alright, alright." Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "In a way, you're even."

Lance crouched on the ground, clutching his head; the glorious image of a paladin vanished in that instant.

He muttered to himself, "Master, we're the ones who signed the demon contract, so why are we the ones getting beaten up...?"

Hena glanced at him sideways.

"You got hit?" She shifted her leg, leaned back lazily, and said, "I'm telling the truth. You really should have told the truth a long time ago; it's unhygienic..."

"But this tool of yours..." she thought for a moment.

"Not really suitable for use."

Lance's lips were trembling.

It's not because I'm afraid.

It's because I felt wronged.

They were the ones who signed the demonic pact.

They were the ones who were ganged up on and beaten.

What did they do wrong?

They were only forced to cooperate.

Is it wrong to cooperate?

Is it wrong to like something?

"Master, I'm not convinced!" Lance was still unconvinced. "This is clearly blatant discrimination!"

Hena glanced at him sideways.

"Do you want to become the orcs' little wives?"

Lance's expression froze instantly. The other five paladins froze at the same time. They thought of the legends in the orc camps, about how the abducted humans, men and women alike, all ended up as "beloved wives." Not a metaphor, but the literal meaning.

Gregory got up from the ground and dusted himself off. "Master, we were wrong. We'll be honest." The other paladins nodded along, nodding vigorously.

Hena took a satisfied sip of water.

"That's good. Go take a shower, you smell terrible."

Lance stood up, took two steps, then stopped and turned around.

"Master, is that Shurasa still alive?"

Hena glanced down at her feet, then gently kicked the slime. The slime rolled twice and stopped next to a blade of grass, remaining motionless.

"Here it is."

Lance looked at the puddle of jelly and his lips twitched.

"This...this is Shurasa?"

"Um."

"How did it become like this?"

"I'm so angry with you guys."

Lance immediately shut his mouth.

Hena addressed the six people who were preparing to take a bath.

"Remember to wash separately, okay?"

She paused, then added.

"Also, don't drop the soap."

The backs of the six paladins froze simultaneously.

Lance's left foot had already stepped out, hovering in mid-air, unsure whether to go forward or backward. Gregory looked down at the soap in his hand, his expression complex.

The six people stood still, none of them moved.

Hena watched their retreating figures, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"What? Do I need to divide you into groups?"

"No, no, no."

The six people shook their heads simultaneously, like rattles. Then they scattered and went in different directions. Some went east, some went west, some went into the woods, and some went around to the back of the wooden house.

They walked very fast, as if a ghost was chasing them.

It was afternoon.

Wayne saw Celine off.

in the afternoon.

When Celine arrived, the sun was shining from the west, casting a long shadow of the church steeple.

She wore a light gray dress with a silver brooch at the neckline, her hair pulled back, revealing her slender neck. She looked much more energetic than when she was at the Rose Courtyard, and her steps were lighter.

Sophie followed behind her, wearing a light blue dress that reached just to her ankles. She carried a small bamboo basket covered with a white cloth, the corner of which was blown up by the wind, revealing a few bright red apples inside.

"Bishop Wayne."

Celine stood at the church entrance and nodded slightly.

Wayne stepped aside and gestured for them to proceed.

"Madam, please come in and have a seat."

Celine entered the church and sat down on a pew in the front row. Sophie sat down next to her, placed the bamboo basket on her lap, and ran her fingers back and forth over the basket's handle.

"I came today to thank you," Celine said, her voice soft but clear. "Thanks to you for what happened last time."

"You're too kind, Madam. It's just my duty."

Celine smiled, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment before shifting to the podium in front of her.

"Your Excellency, I've been feeling a bit unwell lately."

Wayne looked at her.

"An old problem?"

"Yes, it's been intermittent." Celine raised her hand and pressed her temples. "The medicine isn't helping. I'd like to ask you to take another look at me."

"it is good."

After the treatment was completed.

Wayne escorted Celine and Sophie out of the church.

The sun was already setting in the west.

As she reached the door, Celine stopped and turned around.

"Your Excellency, thank you for your help again today."

"No trouble at all." Wayne stood on the steps, two steps higher than her, his gaze level with hers, landing directly on her forehead. "Madam's health is of utmost importance."

Sophie blushed slightly.

Although the treatments are separate.

However, some houses have very poor sound insulation.

"Cerine said politely."

"Then I'll be leaving first."

Take care.

Celine turned and walked down the steps. Sophie followed behind her, took a couple of steps, then stopped, turned around, and looked up at Wayne.

"Bishop Wayne."

"Um?"

"Today's treatment... felt very comfortable."

Wayne nodded.

"That's good."

[Cereine Wilford - Current Status]

[Status: Satisfied. Not physically, but psychologically. She came to church today, ostensibly for a medical appointment, but actually to confirm something: whether Wayne's attitude towards her had changed. The result satisfied her greatly. Wayne was still the same Wayne—gentle, patient, saying what needed to be said, doing what needed to be done. Not a bit more, not a bit less.]

[Note: She's pondering a question. Wilford told her to "build relationships," but has she done so? After much thought, the answer is: yes, but not good enough. This isn't the kind of "good" she wants. But she's not in a hurry; she's patient.]

[Note 2: Sophie is thinking about something daring. She's seen those strange things her father used to have. What would happen if those things were used on you?]

Wayne: Girl, you...