Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Several elderly people nearby also started crying.

"The mountain god will come and eat us..."

"What a tragedy... what a tragedy..."

"The priest killed someone... the priest killed someone..."

Wayne walked over and stood in front of the village chief, looking down at the old man who was crying and trembling all over.

"Tell me, what exactly is the mountain god?"

The village chief looked up, his cloudy eyes filled with fear.

"You...you don't know...that monster...comes every winter...we can't defeat it...we can't escape...we can only sacrifice ourselves to it...if we sacrifice ourselves, it won't come..."

Wayne looked at him.

"How long did the sacrifice last?"

The village chief was trembling.

"It's been...more than ten years..."

"How many people were sacrificed?"

The village chief opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Wayne spoke for him.

"Once every three months, four times a year, forty times in ten years. Each time there is at least one person, sometimes two."

The village chief's face turned pale.

"We...we had no choice..."

Wayne ignored him.

He turned around and walked towards the wooden frame.

The crowd automatically parted to make way.

Ella and Emma were still standing beside the wooden frame, their small figures protecting Vera. Seeing Wayne approach, Emma grinned.

"Master, wasn't my fireball powerful?"

Wayne nodded.

"sharp."

Emma smiled even more broadly.

Wayne looked up at Vera on the wooden frame.

"Put the person down."

The villagers were stunned for a moment, looked at each other, and no one moved.

Wayne's gaze swept over them.

Do I have to say it a second time?

Someone made a move.

A younger man put down his torch, climbed onto the wooden frame, and frantically tried to untie the rattan binding Vera's wrists. The rattan was tied very tightly, digging into her flesh, and it took him a long time to untie the first one.

Vera slid off the wooden frame, her legs were too weak to stand, and she knelt directly on the ground.

Ella and Emma ran over and each of them helped her up.

Vera looked up at Wayne.

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Can we walk?" Wayne asked.

Vera nodded, then shook her head.

Ella held onto her arm and whispered:

"Slow down, no rush."

Just then, Lillian, who had been watching the show from inside the car, jumped down and looked at Wayne with curiosity.

Lillian hopped over, her brown eyes darting around Wayne as if she were looking at something new and interesting.

"Father Wayne," she tilted her head, "what exactly do you do?"

Wayne looked at her.

"Father."

"Can a priest kill someone with one punch?"

"able."

"Can a priest kill someone?"

Wayne's gaze passed over her and landed on Moss's charred corpse.

"The goddess just gave me an inspiration," he said.

"That person deserves to die."

Lillian blinked.

"Inspiration from the goddess?"

"right."

"What about the others?" Lillian pointed to the villagers huddled in the back. "What about them?"

Wayne did not answer.

Wayne turned around, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding villagers. The young and strong men holding torches, the old men who had collapsed to the ground crying, and the women and children huddled under the eaves.

"As for others who participated in the sins," he said, "their souls will not find peace after death."

Some people in the crowd started to tremble.

Wayne turned to look at the carriage.

"You agree, Sister Mayfair?"

The carriage was silent for a moment.

A black nun's habit appeared at the car door. Mayfair jumped down, her movements so light she barely made a sound when she landed. She walked to Wayne's side, stopped, and her gaze fell on the group of villagers.

"……right."

Her voice was calm.

"The dead will not let them go."

Wayne's gaze swept across their faces.

"Most of the able-bodied men in your village are here now."

No one spoke.

"None of you can escape responsibility for this sacrifice."

Still, no one spoke.

Wayne continued, "If it weren't for the many innocent women and children in the village, even if your entire village were eaten by monsters, I wouldn't help you."

The village chief knelt on the ground, and suddenly his eyes lit up.

"Father..." His voice trembled violently, "You...you're willing to help us?"

Wayne didn't answer. He turned to Mayfair, who was standing beside him, and asked politely.

"Sister Mayfair, can you give me some inspiration?"

Mayfair looked up, her eyes flashing in the firelight.

"The dead will tell us the best answer."

She took a few steps forward and stopped on the ground illuminated by the firelight. Her black nun's habit hung down, fluttering gently in the night breeze.

Then she closed her eyes.

The lips began to move.

The voice was very soft, and it was impossible to make out what was being said. But with each syllable that fell, the surrounding air seemed to grow colder. The torchlight began to flicker, as if something was approaching.

Some people started to tremble.

It's not that I'm afraid of Mayfair.

It's cold.

That kind of cold that seeps out from the very bones.

Ella and Emma helped Vera take two steps back. Lillian stopped jumping and stood still, her brown eyes wide open.

Marco's hand rested on the hilt of his knife as he stared around.

Wayne didn't move.

He stood there, looking at Mayfair.

The incantation lasted for about ten breaths.

Then Mayfair opened her eyes.

She raised her hand and pointed forward.

The ground began to shake.

A putrid smell wafted from the ground.

Someone screamed.

"What is that?!"

"A ghost! There's a ghost!"

"Run! Run!"

But it was too late.

A hand reached out from the crack.

Then there was another one.

Then comes the head.

Then comes the whole body.

About a dozen decaying bodies crawled out of the ground and stood on the fire-lit ground, surrounding the living people.

One.

two.

Three.

more and more.

A dozen or so undead corpses resembled a group of soldiers awaiting orders.

The villagers' screams stopped abruptly.

It's not that I'm not afraid anymore.

They were so scared they couldn't even scream.

The young and strong men dropped their torches, collapsed to the ground, trembling like leaves. The old men knelt on the ground, their heads banging loudly. The women and children huddled together, not daring to cry out.

Mayfair's voice rang out.

"Look at them."

Her gaze swept over the dead.

"These people are the ones who were sacrificed to the monsters. Pick out those who committed the most heinous crimes!"

The village chief looked up, his cloudy eyes filled with fear.

"No, it's impossible... We sacrificed living people, they died in the mountains, how... how could this be..."

Mayfair said.

"The dead don't need a fixed body, they only need resentment."

She paused.

"Evil will ultimately be judged accordingly."

The spirits of the dead stirred.

They started walking forward.

Step by step, we walk toward those who are still alive.

The first one chosen was a middle-aged man, the one who had just shouted, "Sacrifice them to the mountain god!" He sat on the ground, trembling all over, his crotch soaked with sweat.

The middle-aged man's body began to convulse, he made a "hoarse" sound, and his eyes rolled upwards, revealing the whites of his eyes.

A few breaths later, he collapsed to the ground.

Soon, six people were chosen. They were all heinous criminals, and the crimes they had committed were either rape or murder.

At this moment, the decaying branches clamped their bodies, and the people were unable to move under the control of the dead.

Mayfair's voice rang out in the night wind.

“These six,” she said, “have been at every sacrifice for the past ten years. They’ve been the ones who kidnapped people, carried them, and sent them into the mountains. They’ve not only murdered, they’ve raped. They’re all deserving of death.”