Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Night fell quickly.

Inside the Witch Cult's stronghold, several people sat together with tea and snacks in front of them, but none of them were interested in eating.

Dora was the first to speak.

"I used the little bird to go see it today."

She sat on a low stool near the fireplace, holding a teacup in her hands, and blinked her eyes behind her round-framed glasses.

"That bishop did indeed save the person's life."

Tilulu leaned against the window, her silver hair gleaming coldly in the firelight.

"How were you saved?"

"Water magic," Dora said. "First they set the bones, then they cleared the sludge, and finally they gave the child a bottle of medicine. In less than half an hour, the child went from being on the verge of death to falling asleep."

She paused, then added.

"I didn't ask for money."

Emily sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, holding a pastry in her hand, having taken a bite out of it.

"Really not going to take it?"

"They really didn't want it." Dora nodded. "I saw it with my own eyes. The couple said they didn't have the money and would give it to them later. He said there was no rush and they would repay the goddess's grace when they had the money."

Dora then continued.

"Who knows, this new bishop might be a good person."

Tilulu frowned.

"Maybe he's just keeping it well hidden."

Dora turned to look at her.

"What are you hiding?"

Tilulu did not answer.

She recalled yesterday morning's events, the fog, the bishop's voice, and her own loss of composure in his presence. How could someone who could infuse water element into another's domain be a simple character? He must have a purpose in doing all this. She just couldn't see it yet.

Christina, seated at the head of the table, put down her teacup, her purple eyes falling on Tilulu.

"Tiruru".

Tilulu raised her head.

"You're not right today." Christina's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "You haven't been right since you came back that day. What happened?"

Tilulu's fingers clenched tightly inside her sleeve.

"without……"

"to be honest."

Tilulu remained silent for a long time.

"...His water element is problematic."

"What's the problem?"

Tilulu bit her lip and recounted what had happened that morning, from when she released the mist field, to when he discovered her, to the water element seeping into the mist, to her... mistake?

When she finished speaking, her face turned bright red.

Dora pushed up her glasses and whispered, "So... you didn't do anything, you just stood in the fog watching him, and then..."

Tilulu did not answer.

"Anything else?" Christina asked.

Tilulu shook her head.

"have no idea."

"What about Ella and Emma?" Emily frowned. "They're with him every day, what if they also..."

Tilulu clenched her fingers even tighter.

"That's what I'm most worried about. If his water element really can affect witches, then those two children would have been..."

She didn't finish speaking, but everyone understood.

At the top of the mountain, the town mayor's residence.

Wilford is twenty-two years old. He is not tall, has a pale face, and thin lips; he looks like a spoiled young master.

He reined in his horse at the stable, tossed it to the groom, and rushed into the mansion. When he burst through the gate, the servants in the hall were startled.

"Where's my sister!" he grabbed a maid's arm, his voice urgent. "How is my sister?!"

The maid, wincing in pain from his grip, shrank back and said, "Miss, Miss is still in the room, the doctor just left..."

Little Wilford ran up the stairs in two quick steps.

Several servants were standing in the corridor. When they saw him, they all lowered their heads and made way for him. He pushed open the innermost door and rushed in.

Several oil lamps were lit in the room, their light blinding. The bed curtains were half-drawn, and his mother sat on a chair beside the bed, tears still streaming down her face. Seeing her son enter, she quickly wiped away her tears.

"Mother!" Little Wilford rushed to the bedside.

"How is your sister?"

The mother didn't say anything, but just glanced into the bed.

Wilford followed her gaze.

At this moment, his sister was lying quietly, her complexion was better than before, her lips had some color in them, and her chest was rising and falling slightly.

"The doctor said it's a curse," the mother said in a low voice. "It was something that was popular in the capital, something noble ladies played with. Your sister... she probably touched something she shouldn't have."

"What did she touch?" Wilford asked.

"I don't know," Mrs. Wilford shook her head. "The housekeeper said she bought something from a servant a few days ago, something like... a painting. He doesn't know where he got it from. Your sister looked at the painting and then acted strangely that night."

Wilford clenched his fists.

"Where is the painting?"

"I don't know. After your sister's accident, that thing disappeared. We've searched everywhere, but we can't find it."

When the servant came to deliver the news, he was drinking outside. By the time he rushed back, his sister was already lying there, and he couldn't wake her no matter how he called her.

"Where is the person who sold the paintings?" he asked.

"He ran away." Mrs. Wilford wiped her eyes. "The butler said he disappeared that very night. I guess he was afraid of getting into trouble."

Wilford's expression changed.

"Did the doctor say it was some kind of curse?"

The mother shook her head, her eyes reddening again: "I don't know. The doctor said that medicine is useless against this kind of curse. To break it, we have to find...we have to find those capable people."

Wilford Jr. didn't respond.

Of course he knew who his mother meant by "capable people." Those witches on the mountain—people his father, who had been town mayor for so many years, hadn't even dared to beg for. Now, for his sister's sake, was he really going to beg them?

He looked down at his sister on the bed.

His face was calm and still, his breathing even, his lips slightly parted, as if he were having a very long dream. She was only seventeen years old this year, and she didn't understand anything. All she did all day was follow him around calling him "brother, brother."

She followed him on horseback, chased after him when he went hunting, and wanted to go with him to Cuiying Street, only to be scolded and sent away. She stood at the door and cried for half an hour.

He clenched his fists.

"I'm going to find them."

His mother grabbed his sleeve.

"Your dad won't allow it..."

"My sister is dying, what does he care about giving way or not!"

Mrs. Wilford reassured her.

"Your father... he's already having someone invite people to the church tomorrow."

"A church?" Wilford frowned. "What do those priests do?"

"The new guy, I heard he's got some skills. This afternoon he even saved a child who'd been kicked by a horse."

Wilford Jr. didn't say anything.

Of course he knew the child who had been kicked by the horse. It was his horse; he was in a hurry to get home to see his sister and hadn't had time to stop. But that wasn't the point. The point was, he didn't believe the church people could save his sister.

"Those women are more reliable than the church," he said.

"I'm going to find them."

He turned and walked out.

Mrs. Wilford called to him from behind, but he didn't turn around.