Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Wayne didn't sleep a wink last night.

Several nobles, led by the Earl of Durham, rushed to the Marquis's mansion overnight. Instead of having tea and catching up in the drawing room, they stood in neat rows in the front yard with their servants and guards, waiting for Wayne.

The Earl of Durham's first words to Wayne upon seeing him were, "Sir, tonight we old folks will follow you. Wherever you say we'll go, we'll go; whichever door you say we'll smash, we'll smash."

Wayne didn't stand on ceremony.

He nodded and said only one sentence.

"Let's go."

So, in the early morning before the night had completely faded, a large group of noble private soldiers and a few busybodies who had come upon hearing the news marched through the still-sleeping streets of the capital and stopped in front of the main entrance of St. George's Cathedral, surrounding the entire cathedral in layers.

Overnight, the news spread like wildfire throughout the capital.

The first news to spread was of the attack on the Marquis's mansion. Death row inmates housed in St. George's Cathedral launched a midnight raid on the Marquis of Angus's mansion, intending to assassinate the new head of the Black Order. The entire group was wiped out, and the leader, a death servant, attempted to summon a projection of the abyss in desperation, only to be killed by the swordsman Ron Grayson.

Then came the truth about the "witches" in St. George's dungeon. The Black Order released a statement overnight claiming that the vast majority of the so-called "witches" imprisoned were noblewomen with ordinary magical talents, forcibly arrested and imprisoned as "suspected witches" because they were targeted by St. George. The proportion of prisoners truly identified as witches was less than one-tenth.

As dawn broke, the first group of worshippers who arrived for morning prayers were stunned by the scene before St. George's Cathedral. The usually solemn and dignified cathedral square was now filled with people, swords drawn, and torches still burning.

A group of middle-aged men dressed in aristocratic attire stood at the front, the leader of whom still had lingering bruises around his eyes. Although he tried to straighten his back, he didn't look like someone who was there for church.

The most eye-catching sight was another scene outside the side entrance of the church. Anka, the secretary of the Black Order, arrived early, accompanied by several temporarily hired helpers, and set up a long table on the street outside the St. George's gate.

Several large baskets of fresh eggs were stacked on the table, next to a handwritten wooden sign that read: "Free to take, three per person."

The news spread like wildfire. The line to collect the eggs stretched from one street corner to the other, winding through several alleys.

The crowd grew larger and larger, and the discussions were as tumultuous as boiling water.

"Have you heard? Last night, a group of death row inmates escaped from St. George and stormed the Marquis of Angus's mansion!"

"That's clearly an internal conflict; they're trying to use someone else to do their dirty work."

"Wasn't the one the church captured a witch before?"

"Absolutely! My cousin at the tavern told me that those so-called witches they captured weren't witches at all, just ordinary girls who had awakened magical talents..."

"Really?"

"Of course it's true. My cousin has worked in the Adventurers' Guild for over twenty years and is very well-informed."

"That's going too far..."

"Catching a witch my ass! I think it's just an excuse to make money!"

"This is just too much..."

The atmosphere at the church entrance was already perfectly set.

Lynch stood at the front, cleared his throat, and then shouted loudly at the closed church doors.

"I, Lynch Angus, have never done anything wrong in my life. Last night, a death row inmate from St. George broke into my house to kill my son! If it weren't for Wayne's incredible luck and the timely intervention of the Sword Saint, my Angus family would be in mourning today! I want to ask, does St. George's Cathedral still have any law left?"

Beside him, Earl Durham spoke next, his voice not as loud as Lynch's, but the anger that had been suppressed for many days made every word carry weight.

"My daughter, Serena, has been taken away by men from St. George's for over half a month now. I've asked her about it many times, and each time I've been given the runaround. It wasn't until yesterday that the head of the Black Order told me that my daughter has been locked up in the St. George's dungeon, with the real hardened criminals. What did she, a fifteen-year-old girl, do wrong?"

The murmurs of the crowd rose again following the Earl of Durham's words. Someone shouted from the crowd, "Release them! Have St. George release them!"

This sound seemed to light a fuse, and a chorus of agreement rose and fell around us.

"Release them!"

"Release them!"

"Release them!"

The shouts grew louder and louder.

The main doors of St. George's Basilica remained tightly shut. The monks behind the doors exchanged bewildered glances, and one hurried off to the inner courtyard to report the situation.

St. George's Cathedral, inner courtyard.

The main hall was dark.

Carrosso sat in the main seat, several newly delivered secret reports spread out on the long table in front of him, but he didn't read a single word. On the other side, Edmund knelt before the table, his forehead pressed to the ground, his body motionless.

A series of hurried footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by the slightly trembling voice of the messenger: "Your Grace, the test results for the anti-magic stones are in. The anti-magic stones didn't react to any of the other prisoners. They... are no longer witches."

Carrosso was furious when he heard this.

He picked up the heavy glass from the corner of the table and smashed it hard on Edmund's forehead.

"Fool! Trash! Is this the absolute certainty you promised me? Do you know how many years we spent weaving this net in the capital? Do you know how many eyes are watching St. George, waiting for us to make a mistake? Do you know that right now, those people outside are using my achievements to pound on my gates?"

Edmund's forehead was pressed against the ground.

"...This disciple is incompetent. Please punish me, Master."

"Now, everyone in the capital knows that St. George's Cathedral is abusing its power to arrest innocent people and imprison noblewomen. Tell me, how are you going to handle this?"

Edmund bowed his head even lower: "Teacher... I'm willing to personally step forward and take full responsibility. Just say that I orchestrated the arrest operation without your knowledge. If I take the blame, at least we can preserve St. George's reputation."

"You think you can handle it?! Do you even think you can?!"

Immediately afterwards, Carroso let out a deep sigh, his voice carrying an indescribable weariness.

"...In the end, I was also at fault. I underestimated Cecil's disciple. I never expected him to be so capable. In such a short time, he managed to prop up the empty shell of the Black Order and even turned the witch we sent to betray us so early, laying such a huge net for us to fall into. His cunning and skill are indeed no less than Cecil's back then, and perhaps even better."

He stood up and walked towards the door.

Edmund knelt on the ground and suddenly raised his head.

"Teacher, where are you going?"

Carrosso did not turn around.

"...Go open the door. Now that the young manager has pushed the chessboard to this point, wouldn't it be disappointing for the entire city's onlookers if I didn't show up?"