Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

The journey from Odrian to Frostham is about 800 miles, and it would take two carriages seven days to travel at a normal speed.

If you encounter bad weather or are blocked by monsters, it could take ten days or half a month.

Wayne spread out a parchment map on the carriage.

Old Roger leaned over and took a look.

"Father, this map of yours..."

"What's wrong?"

Old Roger pointed in that direction.

"This isn't right."

He marked the location of the safe supply point on the map.

"This place was gone three years ago. It was washed away by the demonic tide, and everyone was killed. Now it's the territory of a den of frost wolves, at least twenty of them."

Wayne looked at him.

How did you know?

Old Roger smiled, his dark face crinkling with wrinkles.

"I've been running on this road for twenty years. I know which roads are passable and which are not better than my own backyard."

Wayne nodded.

"Then tell me, which way should we go?"

Roger reached out and gestured on the map.

"Leaving Odrian and heading north along the main road, it will take two days to reach Stonebridge Town. North of Stonebridge Town, there is a small path that passes through a maple forest, saving half a day's journey. Further north of the maple forest is Poplar Valley..."

He paused.

"Be careful in Baiyang Valley. A caravan was robbed there last month by refugees. More than a dozen people were killed, and half of them died."

Wayne looked at the Poplar Valley on the map.

"Can't get around it?"

"There's no way around it." Old Roger shook his head. "It's the only way to Frost Town. We either have to go through Aspen Valley or cross the mountain. Crossing the mountain adds three days to the journey, and there are magical beasts on the mountain path."

Wayne remained silent for a moment.

"How many refugees are there in White Poplar Valley?"

"I heard there are more than a dozen, maybe more. It's hard to say."

Wayne nodded.

"We'll see when we get there."

The carriage continued forward.

Inside the carriage, the girls had already become familiar with each other.

To be precise, Emma and Lillian became close friends.

"And then? And then?" Emma asked, her eyes shining, as she lay down next to Lillian. "What happened to that count's son?"

Lillian leaned against the pile of bedding, her legs crossed.

"He's dead."

"How did he die?"

Lillian thought for a moment.

"So... he died."

Emma blinked.

"Did you kill him?"

The carriage was silent for a moment.

Ella gently tugged at her sister's sleeve.

Lillian tilted her head and looked at Emma, ​​her brown eyes filled with curiosity: "How did you know I was the one who killed her?"

Emma opened her mouth.

Ella spoke first.

"She guessed. She's always been prone to making wild guesses since she was little."

Lillian looked at Ella, then at Emma.

"Yeah?"

Emma nodded and gave a dry laugh.

"Yes, yes, I was just guessing, just guessing."

Lillian blinked.

"You guessed pretty accurately."

She leaned back into the pile of bedding and yawned.

"But don't tell anyone, it's a secret."

Emma nodded vigorously.

"I won't tell, I absolutely won't tell."

Lillian nodded in satisfaction and closed her eyes.

"Then I'll sleep a little longer..."

Soon, his breathing became even.

Emma and Ella exchanged a glance.

Ella glared at her.

Emma shrank back and muttered to herself.

"I...I was just curious..."

Mayfair sat in the corner, watching this scene unfold.

He didn't say anything.

Wayne lifted the carriage curtain and looked at the sky outside.

"Old Roger," he began, "is there anywhere to stay up ahead?"

Old Roger turned around.

"Yes. There is a village about 20 li away. Although the conditions there are not great, people can live there."

Wayne nodded.

"Then let's rest there!"

Just then, Marco rode up from behind. He reined in his horse, making the carriage run alongside, and turned to speak into the carriage window.

"Master Father."

Wayne lifted the car curtain.

"What's wrong?"

Marco glanced ahead.

"I know that village over there."

Wayne looked at him.

Marco paused.

"That's a village abandoned by God. Are you sure you want to settle down there?"

The carriage was silent for a moment.

Wayne didn't say anything.

Marco continued, "This village is called Blackstone Village. More than ten years ago, it couldn't pay its tithes and was labeled by the Vatican. Since then, no clergy will go there, no church will accept their donations, the dead cannot be buried in the church cemetery, and children cannot be baptized in the church."

He paused.

"The villagers are left to fend for themselves. Nobody cares about them."

Wayne looked at him.

How did you know?

Marco remained silent for a moment.

"I came here when I was a soldier in my early years."

Blackstone Village came into view.

Dozens of low, mud-brick houses were crammed at the foot of the mountain, smoke rising from their chimneys and drifting in the hazy sky. A wooden fence surrounded the village, some sections of which had collapsed and were haphazardly patched up with stones and thorns.

The carriage stopped at the village entrance.

Old Roger reined in the carriage and looked back at the car.

"Father, we've arrived."

Wayne lifted the car curtain.

Several people were standing at the entrance of the village.

Old people, women, and children.

There are no young or middle-aged men.

Their gazes fell on the carriage, on Marco on horseback, and finally on Wayne, who was peeking out of the carriage.

Wayne got off the bus.

The black priest's robes stood out starkly in the twilight.

Someone in the crowd took a step back.

An old man with a cane came out and stopped in front of Wayne. He looked up, his cloudy eyes fixed on the goddess badge on Wayne's chest.

"Father," his voice was hoarse, "our village is not fit to receive clergy."

Wayne looked at him.

"I know."

The old man was stunned for a moment.

"You know?"

Wayne nodded.

"God-abandoned Village. Unable to pay tithes, it was labeled by the Vatican. No priests would come, no church would accept it, the dead could not be buried in the church cemetery, and the newborn could not be baptized in a church."

The old man squinted.

"Then what are you doing here?"

Wayne turned around and pointed to the carriage behind him.

"I need to stay the night. I'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."

The old man didn't speak.

The crowd behind him began to whisper.

"Father...what's he doing here...?"

"They're not here to collect taxes, are they...?"

"There haven't been any taxes to collect for a long time..."

"Could they be here to proselytize...?"

The old man remained silent for a while.

"Where are you going?"

Frost Town.

Someone in the crowd gasped.

The old man's eyelid twitched.

"Father," the old man's voice softened, "what were you doing going to a place like that?"

Wayne looked at him.

"From the church."

The old man was stunned.

"Sending you to your death?"

Wayne didn't say anything.

The old man glanced at him again, then at the two carriages, and finally moved aside.

"Come in."

Wayne nodded.

Thank you.

The horse-drawn carriage drove into the village.

The villagers stood on both sides of the road, watching the two unfamiliar horse-drawn carriages pass by. Their gazes were mostly wary, because they were so poor they couldn't afford to pay taxes.

Just as everyone was wondering where all the able-bodied men in the village had gone...

Dozens of young men, carrying torches, surged out from the depths of the village. They surrounded a huge wooden platform, bound with thick vines, upon which a young girl knelt.

The girl had disheveled hair, wore tattered clothes, and was barefoot.

Wayne stopped in his tracks.

Marco jumped off his horse.

The village chief, leaning on his cane, squeezed out from the crowd, the wrinkles on his face appearing even deeper in the firelight.

"Father," his voice was hoarse, "we'll treat you to the night. But this..."

He pointed to the girl on the wooden frame.

"This is a matter for our village."