Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Carrosso left the church without rushing to explain, knowing full well that doing so in this situation would only make him appear guilty. He needed to first regain his composure, muddy the waters, and shift the focus of the argument.

He stood under the porch, his gaze sweeping over the few nobles leading the cheering below the steps, his voice deep and authoritative.

"Gentlemen, are you questioning the authority of St. George, or the impartiality of the entire Wiggins Vatican?"

Several arrogant minor nobles instinctively averted their gaze the moment they met Carosso's eyes.

Carrosso caught those subtle changes, his tone rising slightly, full of confidence.

"Since its founding, St. George's Basilica has never wrongly arrested a single innocent person. I, Caroso Valentine, swear in the name of the goddess that all prisoners previously detained by St. George were witches at the time of their arrest. This is a fact that the Vatican has complete records of verification."

He then turned his gaze to Lynch.

"As for the claim that St. George sent men to attack the Marquis's mansion, that's utter nonsense. If an attack did occur, then please provide solid evidence, instead of gathering a crowd to block the church doors."

At this moment, Wayne stepped forward, his gaze unwavering: "Cardinal Carosso, what a display of power! Is this threatening the kingdom's nobles? You keep claiming you've only captured witches, so why don't you dare bring out the imprisoned ones for a face-to-face confrontation? Are you afraid that after the confrontation, you'll discover you've arrested the wrong people?"

Carrosso's gaze darkened slightly, and he was about to respond when a commotion came from behind the crowd.

Tiffany and several other rescued witches emerged from the passage cleared by the guards and stood beside Wayne.

Tiffany raised her head, looking directly at Cardinal Carrosso: "You want evidence? We are the evidence. I, and these sisters behind me, were arrested and imprisoned by St. George under the pretext of being 'witches.' But I would like to ask Cardinal Carrosso, if we really are witches, why are we standing before the Anti-Magic Stone without even a shred of reaction?"

As soon as she finished speaking, she took out the anti-magic stone, held it in her palm, and showed it to everyone present.

Then she pressed her finger against the stone's surface. One second, two seconds, three seconds—the stone didn't react. The witches behind her stepped forward one by one, but none of them triggered the color representing a witch.

The murmurs among the crowd rose again.

Carroso's gaze lingered for a moment on the unresponsive antimagic stone. His expression didn't change noticeably, but Edmund beside him noticed that his fingers gripping the scepter tightened slightly.

Then Carrosso spoke, her voice still steady: "Ridiculous! You witches, you've only used some means to temporarily suppress magical fluctuations, and you dare to swindle and deceive people in front of St. George's door? I think you're tired of living!"

As he spoke, he slightly raised his right hand, and a ball of holy light, visible to the naked eye, condensed in his palm.

"Since you insist on delivering yourselves to my doorstep, then don't blame me for being impolite. Guards! Seize these audacious witches!"

Several fully armed Templar Knights stepped forward in response, but Wayne stepped aside and blocked Tiffany and the others.

"Carosso, how dare you!"

The entire hall fell silent at that moment.

The entire room fell silent.

Wien stood before the gates of St. George, every word he uttered eloquently.

"Caroso, you dare to distort the truth in front of hundreds of people. You dare to forcibly arrest people in front of the nobles and commoners of the capital. I'd like to ask you, who are you? Are you the goddess's representative on earth, or an uncrowned king who is above the laws of the capital?"

Wayne produced the ironclad decree bearing the name of the Black Order and said, "Today, on behalf of the Black Order and His Majesty the King, I hereby formally order you and St. George's Cathedral to immediately hand over all those innocently imprisoned. If you have any objections, you may personally appeal to His Majesty the King."

Carrosso did not speak.

His gaze was so gloomy it was almost dripping with water.

Then, an invisible pressure spread from his body.

That was the pressure of a mid-stage sixth-order Saint. There was no posture of attack, no sign of making a move; he simply stood there, letting his aura be released naturally, which was enough to make those below the fourth order kneel and breathe rapidly.

However, this intimidating aura was specifically directed at Wayne.

"Young man, do you know who you're talking to?" Carroso said condescendingly.

At this moment, Wayne's battle energy was mobilized to its maximum.

He said through gritted teeth.

"Carosso...you have quite the airs of an official."

Carrosso did not speak.

His gaze lingered on Wayne's face for several moments, and then, instead of abating, the oppressive aura intensified.

"You really think that with the Queen backing you up, I wouldn't dare to touch you? You're far too naive."

Wayne was about to collapse.

A beam of holy light exploded between Carosor and Wayne.

This forced Carrosso to take a half-step back.

At that moment, time seemed to freeze.

The expressions, movements, and even breathing of the onlookers in the square were all frozen in place. Some people had their mouths open, not yet finished saying what they were saying; some people had their feet raised and dangling in mid-air; and some people had their hands rubbing their eyes, stopping just half an inch away from the corner of their eyes.

Apart from Cecil, Wayne, and Carrosso, there was nothing else moving in the entire square.

Cecil stood outside the crowd, wearing an unfastened cardinal's robe. He held nothing in his hands, yet the passage of time seemed to flow through his fingertips.

"Caroso. I am ill, but I am not dead. My disciple is not for you to discipline."

Caroso's gaze darkened. He slowly withdrew his aura, his tone tinged with coldness: "Cecil, I thought you were planning to hide in your sickbed until the capital changed."

Cecil didn't respond to his comment.

"I'm not here to argue with you. I'm just here to tell you, do you really think there's no consequence for harming my disciple?"

No sooner had the words been spoken than three figures appeared in the square in front of St. George's Gate.

The three men, dressed in deep red cardinal robes, stood side by side. Their presence instantly cooled the previously sweltering air.

"Cecil, you're so sick, why are you still trying to stand up for yourself? Don't end up losing your own life instead of saving others."

A second voice followed, its tone entirely mocking: "Cecil, Cecil, don't you even look at your physical condition? A man with one foot in the grave, still thinking of charging into battle like a young man?"

The third person spoke up, his voice more even: "Since you value your disciple so much, why don't we take a gamble and see if you recover first, or he collapses first?"