Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Wayne didn't offer much explanation to the two children.

He tucked the medicine into his sleeve and stood up.

"Stay in your room. Don't wander around."

Ella nodded.

Emma raised her hand.

"Master, what if someone comes to bully us?"

Wayne looked at her.

"burn."

Emma's eyes lit up.

"Really?"

Wayne didn't answer, and went out the door.

The door closed, shutting out the sounds from outside.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of the wind outside the window and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. Emma lay on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs for a while, before suddenly speaking.

"elder sister."

"Um?"

"What did you think Master went to do?"

Ella thought for a moment.

"have no idea."

Emma tilted her head.

"Are you going to ask for money?"

"have no idea."

"Are we going to fight?"

"have no idea."

"Are you going to kill someone?"

Ella did not answer.

Emma continued to swing her legs.

"Sister, you don't know anything."

Ella lowered her head, her fingers twisting her sleeve.

"Um."

Emma looked at her and suddenly smiled.

"But it's okay."

Emma got out of bed, walked over and sat down next to her sister, their shoulders touching.

"Whatever the master does is right."

Ella paused for a moment.

"How...how did you know?"

Emma blinked.

"Because our master is good to us."

"But..." Ella's voice was very soft, "What if what Master does... is something bad?"

Emma tilted her head and thought for a moment.

"What constitutes a bad thing?"

Ella opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Emma continued, "Those who whip us are doing bad things. Those who don't feed us are doing bad things. Our master feeds us, gives us medicine, gives us new clothes, and hugs us. How could what our master does be bad?"

Ella remained silent for a moment.

"But Master just said... to kill..."

"Kill the bad guys."

Emma said it as a matter of course.

"Bad people deserve to be killed."

Wayne's main purpose in going out was to visit the old bishop.

That's right, it's that old bishop who was paralyzed by a stroke.

Wayne walked through the archway toward the outside of the church. He knew where the old bishop lived; it was in a secluded corner of Audrien, a small courtyard that was rarely visited.

It was said to be for "recuperating from illness".

It's basically just waiting to die.

Three years ago, the old bishop suffered a stroke, leaving him paralyzed from head to toe. He could no longer speak or move, except for his eyes. The diocese removed him from his position as bishop and replaced him with Casa as the vice-bishop to oversee daily affairs.

The old bishop's wife stayed by his side to take care of him.

They said it was to take care of him.

As for how they were taken care of, only God knows.

Wayne had met that woman once. She was in her forties, still charming, and the wrinkles around her eyes couldn't hide the beauty she had in her youth. When she looked at people, her eyes would crinkle and the corners of her mouth would turn up, and her voice was soft and sweet, as if she had been raised in a honey pot.

The old bishop was paralyzed for three years.

She remained a widow for three years.

Widowed women always need some comfort.

The gate to the courtyard was ajar.

Wayne raised his hand and knocked on the door.

No one answered.

He knocked again.

Still, no one answered.

He pushed open the door and went inside.

The yard wasn't large, but it was very clean. Several potted plants sat against the wall, their leaves lush and green, clearly indicating that someone watered them daily. The door was open, and the curtain swayed gently in the breeze.

Wayne walked to the door.

Is anyone home?

The curtain was lifted.

A face peeked out.

She was in her forties, with curved eyebrows and a smile on her lips.

"Oh, isn't this Father Wayne?"

The woman came out, carrying a rag, as if she was cleaning. She looked Wayne up and down, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment.

"What brings you here? Is something the matter?"

Wayne looked at her.

The panel popped up.

Name: Elena

[Identity: Wife of the former bishop]

[Actual age: 42 (looks like she's in her early thirties, very well-maintained)]

[Past: In her youth, she was a dancer in a choir. The old bishop took a liking to her and married her. The old bishop was paralyzed for three years, and she stayed by his side for those three years. But while she said she stayed, she was far from idle. The archdeacon, Casa, was a frequent visitor. The two of them would do their business in front of the old bishop every day. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, but he couldn't move or speak; he could only watch.]

[Current status: Just took a shower, still smells nice. Casa came by this morning, left less than two hours ago.]

[Note: She doesn't like the old bishop. She married him for money and status. Now that the money is almost gone and the status is gone, she's considering her next move.]

[Note 2: The first thought that flashed through her mind when she saw you was: I really want to devour him, but unfortunately he's completely oblivious.]

"Lady Elena," he said, "I've come to visit His Holiness the Bishop."

Elena was taken aback.

"visit?"

"right."

Elena's gaze swept over his face, and her smile deepened.

"You're such a kind person. It's been three years, and apart from a few people from the church, no one has come to see him." She stepped aside. "Come in, he's lying inside."

Wayne went inside.

The room was dimly lit, with the curtains drawn and only an oil lamp burning by the bedside. The air was thick with the smell of medicine and some indescribable stench of decay.

There was a person lying on the bed.

He was thin and gaunt, with gray hair, sunken eyes, and prominent cheekbones. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, his eyeballs motionless, like a corpse that hadn't yet breathed its last.

Hearing footsteps, those eyes slowly turned around.

It landed on Wayne.

He had no expression whatsoever.

"Your Excellency, Bishop." Wayne walked to the bedside and looked down at him.

The old bishop's eyes flickered, his lips trembled slightly, but he couldn't utter a sound. Elena followed behind, standing at the doorway, still clutching the rag in her hand.

"Look at him, he's like this. Three years. He can't speak, he can't move, he's just hanging on by a thread." She sighed. "I don't know when this will end."

Wayne didn't turn around.

"Madam, I would like to hold a Mass just for His Excellency the Bishop."

Elena was taken aback.

"mass?"

"right."

"But..." she paused, her gaze lingering on his retreating figure, "Can he perform Mass like this?"

"It can be done."

Elena hesitated for a moment.

"Then... I'll wait outside?"

Wayne nodded.

Elena left.

The curtain was lowered.

Only Wayne and the old bishop remained in the room.

Wayne sat down on the chair next to the bed.

"Your Majesty Bishop."

The old bishop's eyes darted around as he stared at him.

"I've come today to say goodbye," Wayne said calmly. "I'm going to Frosttown. The appointment letter signed by Archdeacon Casa is sending me to my death."

The old bishop's eyelid twitched.

Wayne looked at him.

"You know what kind of place that is. Demonic tides, wild beasts, refugees—everyone who goes there dies. The last bishop held out for three months, the one before that for two months. I'll probably be in a similar situation."

Something flashed in the old bishop's eyes.

Wayne continued.

"Before I came here, I had a dream."

The old bishop stared at him.

"In my dream, the goddess stood before me," Wayne said softly. "She told me, 'Old Bishop, you are living a life of great suffering.'"

The old bishop's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"It's been three years," Wayne said. "Lying here, unable to move, unable to speak, only able to watch, only able to listen, the goddess says, you have endless grievances that cannot be redressed..."

As he spoke, Wayne pulled out a potion from his sleeve.

"You know, I'm a devout follower of the goddess." His voice was calm. "Over the years, I've saved some money. It wasn't given to me by the church, nor was it donated by the believers; it was earned by dispensing and selling medicine. Last month, I went to the black market..."